The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide

Not of This Earth

I don’t even want to think,
My life is laid down black as ink,
All the good is in the past,
For those three hollow faces I did what I thought was the best.

I worked a couple poppy fields
where my fate on this passage was sealed,
Filmed by military drones
using, under their fire, someone’s clone for a human shield.

In a little rubber boat bobbing up, dropping down,
At the edge of the deep and by forces unknown,
In a little rubber boat at their mercy …

Each was loaned a ton of seed,
And to sow and to harvest the weed
implements and nanobots,
As the government decreed, with allotted lots.

I drift in and out of sleep,
Armed gink on my soul to keep,
Nineteen tied up to a cage,
Life support alternating at twenty-three k. K.P.H.

Faulty insulated coil
Tension leads try the transport’s foil,
The heat and Gs are thrashing me,
Someone's unfunny joke, we were bound to turn over the soil.

In a little rubber boat bobbing up, dropping down,
At the edge of the deep and by forces unknown,
In a little rubber boat as they will …

Burning like the brightest, golden, glowing amber ember, shining lightning light against the blue, Hallelu.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

Poem

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The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace