[Newspoetry] submission 2:34am -Sept. 12, 2002

[Sandra Ahten]

2:34am  – Sept. 12, 2002
(a newspoem by Sandra Ahten)

I give in to the insomnia, twitching legs, and overactive mind
And move my pillow to the couch where I will not disrupt
The sweet silent sleep of my sweetheart.
The newspaper, lying unread on the cushion beacons me.
But the headlines are enough. Too much.

“We Remember Each Life”
Each American life, and the prosperity for which we stand.
Regardless of the price paid in poverty and toil and slavery
(and death)
By untold millions around the world.
(I think).

Glory, Glory to the USA
Where on the backs of tax paying workers
Corporate earners honor their right to profit
And reap the benefits of pilfering billions and billions
While a teenager gets ten to twenty
for stealing a bottle of Jack from County Market.

And bombs, and threats of a regime change
and flexing of military muscle
(and military budgets)
divert our minds and the media from the corporate crime
and the hijacking of our civil liberties.

And we medicate ourselves with Jag, and ER, and Nicole, and Ozzie
And nickel slots
And flag decals
And craft fairs where women with way too much time on their hands
Dress cement geese in costumes to match the nearest holiday
or their moods
or like bumble bees.
And I consume too much kettlecorn and too many lemon-shakeups
trying to numb myself from their numbness.
But it doesn’t work
and I long for a cigarette
and a bottle of Jack myself.

I awaken at 1am and think about the editorial that needs to be written.
I am not standing united.

And I lie awake at 2:34 and say a Hail Mary
For the lovely Terri whose body seems to manifest anger and fear
By turning against her and making
Her beautiful peace loving flesh tremble with unbearable pain.
I blame George Bush and his regime for her pain.
And I dream that he will be deselected.
And that, in joy, Terri will dance again.

It’s 2:34am. I can dream. Can’t I?

Or is that allowed?
Perhaps I should not have put pen to paper re. my dream.
(It is silly after all).
And could wind me up in front of a military tribunal
Where two of three men, (I know they will be men).
Could determine, with out trial or tribulation,
that my lack of patriotism is punishable by death.
And that would be that.








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