“We know that a peaceful world
cannot long exist, one-third rich
and two-thirds hungry.”
— Jimmy Carter (America)
This stupid world —-
skinny mosquitoes, skinny fleas,
skinny children.
—- Issa (Japan)
][][
Heft it by the pound.
Squeeze it and juice
seeps between your fingers.
They don’t say that we’re
made up of juice,
though, but water, but
it is the same thing.
Life in water,
summer water,
warm to the touch.
In Vegas the nights
were so warm it felt
as if you’d been born
three weeks ago.
What sea or river or
pool could rival that?
The joy in heat
is that you can get
out of it. Not
the frog in the pan.
Like food, when
we’re satiated
we stop.
Which makes us
part of the 1%.
Some of us get to eat.
Is pot roast the color
of emergency? No.
The blue-gun metal
shell of artillery.
The silver-white
of the bayonet.
The orange landmine.
The red coal glow
of the end of a cigarette,
peppering human skin.
A body, anybody, hefted
between two staggering
detainees is still 75% water.
But it isn’t water
that runs down
the leg, staining
your hands where you
held her, staining
the ground
with something
that will dry in the heat,
dry and dissolve.