The Love Poem of Hudson S Prufcock

I ponder poetry passively, as the clock ticks You can bolt your door when the reaper knocks But what if he’s a lock-smith? We’re a nearly always a nation in debt, Visa’s put credit card Goblins under your bed. Blessed and cursed, by unlimited spending Poor and regretful, is that a diligent ending? When I dream, I ponder pillow fights, Polyester wars waged on cool autumn nights Consider the sacrifice, as you sip your burnt coffee Of soldiers from home who fancied Going out in a blaze of glory… Only, To find themselves dying quietly Last breaths whispered softly, On the Homeland we all pray To a shopping-mall Gandhi. I pass by store-windows, a distorted reflection Looks rather pious, as it ponders who I am. So let us go then, you and I When the ozone has grown disillusioned with the sky And opens up our lives to harsh Heavens. Like a terminal patient Who roams septic halls in a hospital gown Memorizing faces, With the fresh innocence of a child Because we’ll all be great friends, On the other side, somehow Till robotic voices wake us, and we drown.