After September 11, 2001, poem by Eleanor Wormwood

      It is 2:26 a.m.
      and this human is having a sherry
      contemplating life and death
      and the no man in my bed
      in my fifty-sixth year

      They have bombed the twin towers
      the American pyramids
      we love twins, two is better than one
      two cars, the country house, you know
      what I mean
      we crave power
      and they have bombed the Pentagon
      that other dinosaur
      they have done this with our own planes
      they know how to really piss us off

      Remember Julius Caesar burned the
      library in Egypt
      And so our anger, our save our face
      kills poor people in a
      country I may never see in person
      we kill for freedom and democracy
      and because we are bloodthirsty
      hypocrites and because we are stupid

      We are too busy watching tv, a video,
      chatting in chat rooms,
      we have become computers
      to see it

      You can call it freedom and democracy
      and the American bounceability
      but it is killing, and that makes me a killer

      If I had a good man I would go to bed now
      and tell him these things and he would
      comfort me , we would find that place
      where this does not exist
      he would kiss me where it hurts
      he would kiss the killer in me
      I would kiss him back
      this life would be on hold
      I would feel human again
      I would feel like a woman

      A woman is as far from a killer as you can get
      unless you are a star or the moon or a baby
      or unless some man is driving you crazy.

      Every day we send bombs and gunpeople
      instead of our wishes and our words
      we dig ourselves deeper into a hole
      our fingers will be grasping the edge
      our eyes will be haunted and filled with sorry
      there will be no can I do this over
      you will not be a man
      I will not be a woman
      it will be too late.

      There is nothing new here
      there is nothing new about this
      we are no more civilized than they were.

      So the poets made poems
      like this one
      so that we would know.
      we do it still
      so that you will know.


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