Goodreads
del.icio.us
(I gave up sewn clothes and wore a robe.)
—Kabir
If we show respect,
they'll respond in kind,
just like any intelligent life form.
But if we highlight
their sins on the evening news,
the nasty side of life,
we'll sell more advertising!
The choice, of course,
is ours.
But, what if we in our walnut-paneled basements fall in love
with a Dutch servant girl wandering nude
sporting one pearl earring
after the family has gone to bed?
One has only so much real estate...
So, One day they blew him down in a clam bar in New York.
He could see it coming through the door as he lifted up his fork.
He pushed the table over to protect his family.
And he staggered out into the streets of Little Italy.
Sister Jacqueline and Carmella
couldn't save us if they tried.
Though Jacqueline once crushed coquinas and sprinkled
them over Richard Collier's Army blanket
for six straight hours.
But, seriously, what about mythical gods,
the ones glorified since grammar school;
and what about resident earth our mythical gods
jealously stake their claims on?
Jesus.
Now, here comes that guitar, Bloomfield
twanging like a heart valve opening, closing, opening, saying
worship it your way, but worship it
like everyone's god-forsaken lives depend upon it,
which they do.
A sense of humor doesn't hurt
all that much;
it resembles a Novocain needle,
or a Lewis and Clark expedition
through the one collapsed vein reminding us
that life sucks.
Options, of course, are endless.
We could begin by removing land mines
from Bosnian pastures and Sudan villages.
Or we could publish unbiased History books
and reduce class sizes
for Baltimore school children.
Maybe we could even
send a few National Guardsmen
to Darfur, you know,
to reduce the raping and throat slashing.
National Guardsmen, yeah, the ones who survive Iraq.
So, what do you suppose we'll do
when the fighting in Iraq subsides?
Well, I'm not a weatherman,
but I'd say
from the closet retrieve your rubber lobster outfit:
orange vest, orange suspenders,
orange hat.
Perhaps then you'll resemble
a caution light or a caesura.
At least you'll know
you're alive.
I'm not going to abandon
what I am.
This group of heretics,
this group
of lepers and angels.
This group of 21st Century freaks.
These saddened
and ironic poets
fueled by truth
who continue to write
their guts out.
I would no more
embrace the sentimental past
than I would join
those poor fools
who embrace the rose-colored future.
Alan Britt's recent books are Vegetable Love (2009), Vermilion (2006), Infinite Days (2003), Amnesia Tango (1998) and Bodies of Lightning (1995). Britt's work also appears in the new anthology, Vapor transatlántico (Transatlantic Steamer), a bi-lingual anthology of Latin American and North American poets (Hofstra University Press/Fondo de Cultura Económica de Mexico/Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos de Peru). Britt recently served as Panel Chair for Poetry Studies & Creative Poetry for the PCA/ACA Conference 2007 in Boston and read poetry at the WPA Gallery/Ward-Pound Ridge Reservation in Cross River, New York (2008). Alan currently teaches English/Creative Writing at Towson University and lives in Reisterstown, Maryland with his wife and daughter.