I have a duffel bag
Stashed under my bed.
In it cash, Lithuanian passport,
Grundig radio, and autographed
Photograph of Jimmy Hoffa.
The prez sez
Not to worry,
Folds his arms across
His Halloween cape,
And waits for the
Sun to go down.
Where to hide when the
Yalu overflows?
Dublin, Antwerp, Munich
(the stash is best in Munich)
or the Frozen Zone?
I’m eighteen
But I don’t want to die
In the plantation war in Iraq.
My own father fled
To Canada to escape
Vietnam.
And I don’t even have enough gas to get out
Of New Brunswick.
Like Hoffa,
We’re all made redundant
By minimum wage scabs in Mumbai,
As Gunga Din gets his revenge.
Corporate statism knows
No borders,
Only ROI,
And we end up MIA’s.
Ron Spurga grew up during the anti-war movement of the 1960's and worked as a community organizer on Robert Kennedy's presidential campaign. He subsequently founded L.E.S.C.I.A., a political satire theatre company which is producing his latest play about the aftermath of 9/11, "Alphabet City." His poems have been published in France and in the Netherlands.