Guest Host for April & May Vol Lindsey

May, 2012 Poetry in the Brew 
DETACHED
I spent some time this summer
With a shovel and have the remains
Of blisters as testament. My tee shirts
Are stained with sweat, and two
Of my best jeans have premature holes,
From my grandfather back, men
Did these things all the time.
Lucy’s tribe huddled skin to skin
By the fire under a mysterious sky.
The horizon was virginal, and
Kept us terrified.
Until just now,
We worshiped the ground because
It taught us the nature of God and death.
We laughed and danced to cave the skull
And peel the skin of our dinner.
We dug the dirt to bury our weak
Or plant the seeds of tomorrow’s bread.
But we have lost our
Roots, our food has traveled a
Thousand miles, and our bread
Is white as cancer. God has washed
his hands, so in our hungry multitude
No one matters. I think I know you, but it’s
Just your name, and when you are gone,
Someone will use a machine to
Dig your grave.
Vol Lindsey
7/30/2009
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: