Why I Should Be an Alcoholic

I once knew physics well for

A few months

A bomb descended I

Couldn’t stop it (but on paper I knew)

The impact was absorbed by the

Face of a laughing child

And the weight of cinder blocks resting upon

Her blameless corpse

I looked at my uncle’s tax forms there was

Written the child’s names

Uncle rose from his chair opened

His computer

Laced with the bones of a mother who

Has tribe no more

Bought a plastic toy off a screen for

My beloved cousin-sister

Laced with the sweat of Vietnam’s (America’s) child

But what matters truly is what I saw what

I felt

The hunger pangs when

My wife sleeps cold on

The floor of a closed restaurant

Surrounded by the wooing of

Greedy penises

When I am far

And Mrs. Travarti on the phone says

I am a number in

Line for a visa I cannot

Afford unless I starve and

I know no one I can bribe and

Have nothing no one wants even

The deranged nighttime black man paces the

Streets with a three-wheel cart having

Empty cans of sleepless

Office staff lunches but

The police harass him and search his trash

Worth six dollars if he can walk another

Thirteen blocks and wait

Until morning

(Meanwhile in my yard two girls rip

The hairs from one anothers heads

Throw a brick through the glass

Distribute baseball bats

Someone profits quietly and

Where my other half is her

Neighbors sprint through

Miles of decomposing rubbish to

Be the first to reach the

Trucks pouring new landfill contents

They compete to

Dwell and find meals within

This heap to which they walked for months)

I tell the cops to go home they

Tell me the same I

Tell them this street is my home because

It is and

I don’t care if they shoot me or kill

Me I am already dead I

Have long been dead since I

Held the twig baby in my palm and

Cried like he was

Mine

Choked on guilt shame anger rage sorrow pain

and bitterness which is

What I became

So I abandoned

Myself to the vague

Distant idea of hope that should it

Ever come near me

Near us again I would see

A glimpse of its

Mourning with me

But hope has never come not once

Has its teasing manifested except

For those who grow up rich or

Have guns

I dug and dug and dug the

Dirt of my beloved

Then an army man lit

The room at night with

Magic fires and shattered

My home and thieved my

Life that didn’t matter

It had been measured by

The ignorance I had the

Pleasure of maintaining so

That means I never lived long

Everything is meaningless says

The teacher

Advertisements