Saturday, April 2, 2011

NaPoWriMo April 2, 2011


It was delight, that capital city,
so we built a shanty town
on its periphery. We were certain
one of us would be lifted onto
Simon Bolivar's horse, and garlanded
by the king. Our idealism was both sexy
and tonic. LIke how not understanding
the assembly line, but servicing
your own car gives you cred.

My children are the transition.
They are the opposite impulses,
my alien work. What they will
not come to know will fill volumes.
It's the least I can do.

When they undo the ribbon on the box
they'll see I've gotten them
fancy clothes from Bloomie's
and tennis lesson entitlements.
That's my gift to my children,
what I came here to accomplish.

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