Post by Worthington on May 16, 2009 13:07:27 GMT -8
From the Pink Canopy
Watergate remains.
I don’t know why
On every channel
Men at microphones
The March of the Wooden Soldiers.
I cried during “Lassie” episodes.
“Has anybody seen …
The Yellow Submarine …
Blowin’ in the Wind …”
Vietnam.
An unfortunate blank
In my mind.
“Billy don’t be a hero …”
Solutions seemed so slow
The investment of space
Never carried a face
I stapled things long ago
To school bulletin boards
A president, a pilgrim, a prophet
“Two roads diverged in a wood …”
Freddie Prinze shot himself
Karen Carpenter starved herself
As if there was something wrong
With everybody else.
Patty Hearst, blurring in banks
With machine guns
Taking strangers to candy
Shaking boxes for UNICEF
Praying for something
Made in the image of myself.
I went three days without food
And forever admired
The Irish hunger strikers.
“Goodbye my friends it’s hard to die”
That song by some guy
That actually did.
My sister was born
The Son of Sam
Was hearing voices in New York
Elvis was dead at 42
At my first funeral I swore
That my grandfather moved.
I had nightmares about the moon
I cried for hours
When my mother told me about
The things that would happen
To my body.
There was something terrible
At the Olympics
They bombed soldiers in Lebanon
And took hostages
Someone shot John Lennon and the Pope
I found Shakespeare disappointing
And was surprised that Poe was on opium
I felt Hemingway wrote like he talked
And The Martian Chronicles made me believe
That we are all slumbering and naïve
And I’ve spent years trying to understand
Why Judy Garland cut her hair.
www.worthingtonaberdeen.com
Watergate remains.
I don’t know why
On every channel
Men at microphones
The March of the Wooden Soldiers.
I cried during “Lassie” episodes.
“Has anybody seen …
The Yellow Submarine …
Blowin’ in the Wind …”
Vietnam.
An unfortunate blank
In my mind.
“Billy don’t be a hero …”
Solutions seemed so slow
The investment of space
Never carried a face
I stapled things long ago
To school bulletin boards
A president, a pilgrim, a prophet
“Two roads diverged in a wood …”
Freddie Prinze shot himself
Karen Carpenter starved herself
As if there was something wrong
With everybody else.
Patty Hearst, blurring in banks
With machine guns
Taking strangers to candy
Shaking boxes for UNICEF
Praying for something
Made in the image of myself.
I went three days without food
And forever admired
The Irish hunger strikers.
“Goodbye my friends it’s hard to die”
That song by some guy
That actually did.
My sister was born
The Son of Sam
Was hearing voices in New York
Elvis was dead at 42
At my first funeral I swore
That my grandfather moved.
I had nightmares about the moon
I cried for hours
When my mother told me about
The things that would happen
To my body.
There was something terrible
At the Olympics
They bombed soldiers in Lebanon
And took hostages
Someone shot John Lennon and the Pope
I found Shakespeare disappointing
And was surprised that Poe was on opium
I felt Hemingway wrote like he talked
And The Martian Chronicles made me believe
That we are all slumbering and naïve
And I’ve spent years trying to understand
Why Judy Garland cut her hair.
www.worthingtonaberdeen.com
