First ladies stand around
swathed in silk and satin,
purring as the first steel rises.
At the appointed hour
with not much more than the sound
of polite applause
to break their stubborn silence,
the first stage of Freedom’s Tower
makes an entrance.
The Mayor’s speech delivers no surprises.
We’ve heard this genuine outpouring
of raw emotion so many times before
and we’re guaranteed to hear it more and more
until it reaches a well rehearsed climax
at one thousand seven hundred and seventy six feet
and tributes to the awesome power
of the dollar spew forth from Fox’s hacks.
Look on my works, ye mighty and despair.
Outside the Green Zone,
nobody must stand around for long.
Conclude your business and be gone,
before the bomber rises,
before the first steel splinters the air
and the bullets come to part your hair.
Oh my love, hurry home. Don’t pause
by every passing mound of earth,.
reading cards that merely state
‘Unidentified male’, What’s the worth
in wondering whose son lies there,
when in every house, mother’s wait
lingering by the door, long after
all hopes have blended into one long night?
Oh, my love, hurry home. Follow this light
through the hell of fallen palms.
Be invisible in the fire free zones,
until you reach my open arms,
and we can make believe again,
we’re safe here, on our own.
Look on your works, you mighty and beware!
Sorry for the gap since the last poem. I haven't gone away, but I've been very busy and haven't had the thinking time I would have liked. Much as I would love to keep up the previous rate of output, I don't think I can do it, so be prepared for fits and starts and be patient with me!