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.
Copyright © Hudson Mack | Year Posted 2012
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