[from January 19, 2000]
Resolution 2000
The last thanksgiving of the old millennium
A six yr old was pulled from gulf waters
his mom and her boyfriend lost beneath the flow
this January of the new millennium, the waves long by,
another american Mafia, bred in Miami,
with the cutest judge that bribes can place—
blandly blind in posture—seeks to buy him.
Resolve that the child goes home
from this new neon transcontinental Rome.
Oh yes, the Cuban kid trailing toys
raising v sing, trailed by puppy,
trailing uncle Miami like a puppy,
the waves long by between him
and Cuban puppies.
the Reno gamble of the Clint to Lewinsky
ghost worms in the Miami leadership
While "communist Tyranny!" Cry other Petty Bourgeois pols
in teeth of polls taken and inherently indivisible.
"Feel for her mother - where she wanted him to be!"
"Cuba deserves only its criminals!" they shout.
Fear fraught oligarch Miami Mafia
And all the stinking everglades of Cuban exile sugar dollars
Will not prevent the kid’s return to free Cuba
within this wannabe virtual intercontinental Roman Empire.
What did that child grasp to live
two days, two nights the moon floats above billowed stream
all night, all day, all night and all day the far moon sailing.
The child grips his nest in the swift Gulf
Looking back at his mom drifting off
looking forward to what?
Being a 50,000 dollar fun toy?
Nested in gusano heaven?
Resolve that the child goes home
From this neon-new continental Rome.
* * * *
[from January 20, 1999:] In careful days how the old locks stick.
Cautiously unlocking door
With the eyes and ears worn
Even though the doors torn off—
blue mountain ranges you see
you and you aloft in the foyer—
And forgotten schools upstairs
And dusty roads in closets
Winter gollashes
Hip boots for the flash floods
In the downstairs bathroom
Smooth time worn brass keys turn
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