Tuesday, February 26, 2013

POEM - Historical Continuity


One can talk all they want to
About the constants of history
Thump the podium in mighty oration
Put the fear of God in all of us
And still they miss the mark

It is not the fight for freedom
The indomitable spirit of man
Going with the flow
Living a purpose driven life
Or metaphysical meditation
That is the one thread
That one piece that does not change
The common link in every story
It is, in fact, the cockroach

No, really, it is, and I thought you should know
Thought it might save you some worry

You see, there is no deeper meaning
I am not presenting some concept
A smoking Kafkaesque gun
That must be shot off
Later in the story
Straight into your subconscious
To let you know that the roach lives
In each of us, it is us, and we are it

That’s not it at all, it is just a statement of fact
Everywhere and every-when there are cockroaches

In Arizona they were hard-cooked, dried out
Skittering little rock beasts, impossible to smash

In the South the pests are soaked in humidity
And smashing obliterates them to a smear of buggy goo

My grandparents said that in Mexico they covered the ceilings
Just outside their hotel door, blanched white, reflecting the light

Ever since the dinosaurs and through a nuclear war
They lurk and multiply and continue on and on
I’ve lived with them throughout my own life
In greater and lesser degrees
But I’ve always lived with them
Them, and a can of Raid

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