Don’t Ask

“Hey Marv, how are you?” Daily, I confront
That mindless query—puffs of empty sound,
Wakening the pain, the tension, dormant,
Until, reckless, they snap the tightly wound

Chaotic wildly woven thread of soul,
Fragile, too quick to snap. What do they ask?
Is the infected cyst that burned a hole
In my ear canal dealt with? Does Joan bask

In good health, despite the triple-bypass?
Is my hernia repair holding up?
The BP OK? How am I? How crass
Can one simple question be? My cracked cup,

Leaking the sour effluvium of life,
Is, after all, the least of it! I feel,
As well, deceitful, poisoned barb-tipped strife
Stinging folks to vote like that schlemiel

Who always spills the soup. Then Africa’s
Fierce rebuff repaired humiliation,
Replaced colonial conceit—with what?—
Thuggish kleptocracies ruining nations!

I watch, frozen, astonished, as god-based
Greed consumes the East—Middle, Near, and Far—
As armed traffickers kill the few abased
Authorities not yet corrupt—bizarre,

Not so?—as the black hole of obscene wealth,
Relentless, sucks the fluid of our lives,
As trick advertisements mislead through stealth,
As proud states splinter into vicious tribes!

“How are you Marv?” they ask incessantly,
And frown when I reply, “How should I be?”
                                            (8/15/08)

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