by Odin Roark
“…Like the glow of star-dispelling lights
from 5th Ave
to Trump Towers,
to the Bronx,
atop the bridges glinting brazen shouts.
“Hurt and pain guised as success,
a purulent throb of discharge,
flung high over and through,
settling seasonally in Pennsylvania
2nd homes, where farm animals
gaze from fields
at repeated history,
“So it goes.
festering from forever frictions.
Id and ego,
smooth and calloused,
reduced to screams and laughter.
"Have and have not antecedents
surviving now as virus,
knowing not of antidote,
long ago ignored for addiction.”
“Why is that Mother?”
“Like the book says, sweetheart…
see here the illustration
barnyard animal-looking humans
all dressed in party finery
to do now.”
“Why are they wondering?”
“Mr. Orwell told the story long ago.
Another writer addressed it again
a bit different,
but with the same warning."
“Is that what they’re wondering about…warning?”
She caresses her daughter’s forehead
“Some things take a long time to learn.”
“But we do learn them…right?”
“Sleep warm, daughter.”