What do you want me to prove?
That I read? That I have culture?
That I have important ideas
that you can’t see
from your consciousness?
There is nothing new
in this world
but what we make
and call new.
And you want it said quietly?
Slowly? With purpose?
Allusions toward obscurity
flooded in language?
Here is an image for you:
A year old condom,
and a single rain boot
dance on the foamy shore
of Sandy Hook, New Jersey.
The condom, half-filled with
bubbly water, deflates
as a young girl
in a baseball cap and
dirty-white gloves
drops it in a trash bag
and another idealist
puts a tally mark on a clipboard,
parallel lines uncomfortably together.
The image, disturbed
by the youths, is regenerated
the next day. Another boot,
another dance, another rubber.
How can I say this quietly?
There is a lot of trash out there.
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