On Earth As It Is

Your father’s deaf as ever now
And he still mumbles the same old stuff
About bliss and sacrifice and debt and how
This dust of stars is just his dandruff.

His forehead is dry and creased now
Above a nose veined with hieroglyphs.
And his eyes are dim, white-mooned with cataracts;
His wisdom gleaming drool on thin lips.

Your father’s old and toothless now.
He sits by an electric fire;
An imagined pipe in an imagined hand
Moving on an imagined wire.

Nobody listens to your knees
Creaking of dead children, catastrophes.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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