Archive
07/12/11
Rat Turds in Your QWERTY
As you immerse yourself in the throes of e-mailing consequential others, Dispatching exceedingly fleet correspondences, quick-hit epistles, To old cronies, associates, family, and highly prized unknowns — Para- and quadriplegics, MIA's, POW's, vegetables, corpses, ghosts All newly Facebooked, Twittered, Skyped, from the "Cloud" —
Your knit-one-pearl-two, 180-words-per-minute, spider-spinneret fingers, Flying, acrobatically, over the keys of your QWERTY board, Encounter unanticipated turbulence, rough flying, at those rarefied heights, During the "police action" you helped enforce, during the Nixonian '70s.
All of a way-too-shudderingly-sudden sudden, You find yourself, digit-deep, in a clicking keyboard mined with rat shit. Unmistakably, you're back in Saigon, Danang, Phnom Penh (classified), Breathing in the choking odors of Agent Orange and napalm, Which your flyboy buddies, from the polluted clouds, are broadcasting.
You're typing your guts out, bootstep by soggy bootstep, click by click, Doing your best to express your deepest fears, insanity, ennui, Make your emotions known to ARVN and Vietcong alike, On subjects as engaging as the domino theory, communist dominance, Without being blown up, blown cloud-high, blown away, blown to turds.
Next thing you realize, you're being Sikorskyed out of country, With suppurations oozing rat feces, from amputated head to toe, Bleeding like a rat with its neck snapped in one of Ho Chi Minh's traps, Even as your QWERTYing fingers keep your head in the clouds, Where you hope to win hearts and minds, come home...to somewhere.
07/12/11
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