Thursday, 4 December 2008

Coming of Posthuman Age

Teen boys lilt along the boardwalk
blankly licking pink cones
to make their father feel better.
Though a quiet little lie
it waved so many arms away
setting its aim over the years.
Innocence is a long novel to settle into
like canoe in a lagoon.
The two of us, we, we bought it
and must be ourselves and be good.
Every temptation has its price
and I want to hold the Kilimanjaro I know
even if it's stopped snowing now.
No one is the enemy. Who wouldn’t duck trauma?
After the show is over you drop the other off
and going home alone—tighten the back of your fist
so a mosquito can't budge, then close in.

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