Poem 37: Protest Song

a rat under the bandwagon

is rinsing his pearls for us

in a broken rhesus jar

and (dear God) already we are lost

a blind salesman in yellow fur

offers the cartoon city marble

against a sky of silly blue

and (dear God) already we are lost.

the iron beam is clattering now

as the camera called me father

to the children in format grey

and (dear God) already we are lost

my fingers are uncurling mist

from the blushing heralds side

too late his eyes into ribbons explode

and (dear God) already we are lost.