Archive 06/17/09 - (2)

   

Exposed

                                                                  

Emerging from my isolated psyche's bunker mentality,

Yesterday morning, at 7:15,

Taxiing to the airport, flying off to Chicago,

With the sole purpose of mitigating my workaholic asceticism,

Returning three shy of twenty-four hours later,

 

I can say, with an irrefutable degree of authority and veracity,

That, indubitably, the world is terrifyingly overpopulated.

We are far too many of us, for our own bad good.

And what will we do if Armageddon doesn't take pity,

Spare us from the parallel evils of starvation and anomie?

 

The airports' fiery hoops of tedious lines and humiliating screenings,

Through which each of us must leap, sheepishly or leoninely

(In no small part due to that miscreant "shoe bomber,"

That brutish, unrepentant British Muslim, Richard Reid),

Are our just deserts for vowing to keep the peace.

 

Tonight, I'm relieved to be back home, intact,

Away from all that talking, hacking, cackling, the whining of babies,

The anonymous faces, the unabashed voices of cell-phone abusers

Spilling their guts, oblivious of suffering hundreds

Who couldn't care less about the details of their innocuous lives,

 

All of it priming my mind, stoking its unavoidable penchant

For commenting, silently, helplessly, on humankind's obesity,

Its slovenly disregard for propriety, manners, customs.

Overcome with the rigors of enduring such mortal catastrophe,

I huddle under my covers, enervated, weary, tuckered, shaking,

 

But grateful for having exposed myself to the crowds,

The hoards haunting Michigan Avenue's Magnificent Mile,

The unenlightened shades, phantoms, ghosts of Homo sapiens

Ravaging every last square- and cubic inch of Earth,

Desperately searching for privacy, a few moments alone...or not.

 

Otherwise, how would I ever possibly know

That I never want to have anything to do with my fellow man,

Because he's an odious, mealy yahoo, a verminous, venomous cretin, 

A terminal germ, virus, who, if he does nothing more insidious,

At least reminds me that I must seem just the same, to him?

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

06/17/09 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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