July 4, 2012

At 4:13 a.m. in Southern Illinois
Under the soft luminescence of full moon,
Amidst the chirping of crickets and hoarse croaking of katydids,
As Venus chases Jupiter on the eastern horizon
And the breeze meanders slowly across my shoulders,
Wafting the scent of cornstalks past my nostrils at 73 degrees,
The first of the cocks begins to crow,
Announcing the dawn of another year
To enjoy this beautiful land that we claimed
From the hands of the Potawatomi,
Who surely would never miss it
As much as I would now.

Boys

They keep waiting for that moment in their lives,
Like in Donnie Darko,
When Donnie accepts that the only thing he can do,
Is to go back in time and stay in bed so the jet engine from his mother's plane can crush him,
So that the girl doesn't get run over by the rabbit.

Or they imagine themselves sitting on a bridge,
Holding the wires of an explosive in their hands,
Waiting for the tanks to come close enough
That they get to whisper
Earn this.

They refuse to become the machines that their fathers are,
Though they lose hands and wrist above the forearm.
The Force is not strong enough in them
To sidestep disaster
Or to bring about a new hope.

He anticipates that after one final achievement,
The world will rest,
And he will not grow old slowly,
Slumping out of a cane chair in Sicily,
Or coughing up his breath among the tomatoes.

Just don't look at it.
Turn your face away from it.
Don't be like all the other melting faces
That too greedily looked upon the Face of God.
While you were tied to the post, protecting her.

Fredo!

Does one act destroy us?
Can one act redeem us?
If so, I will achieve it.
You will see.
Or not.