15 page poem

I just finished typing a poem that took me three months to write back in spring of 03. Its genesis seemed to be war and marriage -- the invasion of Iraq and the opening of San Francisco City Hall to same-sex marriages, to be specific. I wrote the poem in a bound journal and this is the first time I've typed it.

The SF marriages, sadly, were nullified by the California Supreme Court and the assault on gay families continues. Last week the Washington Supreme Court decided marriage was a fundamental right, oops, except when it isn't. The judges in the majority seemed particularly taken with the idea that another oops, that of accidental pregnancy is best handled within the context of a married het couple. Which is fine as a proposition put out for argument but how the preventing of one person's marriage assists the children of another's escapes me completely. My first argument in favor of marriage has long been: it's for the sake of the children. A child deserves to have a legal connection to both her parents. A child being raised by a same sex couple is denied that. Her friend with mixed-sex parents has, it seems to me, extra special rights.

But of course, visiting vengeance upon children is a favorite old tactic of traditionalists.

And the Iraq debacle drags on, too. No good news there. At this rate my little 15 pager will be topical for decades.

Some lines:


Some families must be destroyed
in order to more safely ignore others.
This is especially helpful to the children.


*


The general scratches his sweaty balls
and sniffs his fingers. “Love,” he grumbles.
“Fucking love, goddamn joy, sickening grace and peace …
If we whack it hard enough it will explode
like a bomb. Which it was all the time. Peace!
… deserves all the blame for the explosion.”


*


A breath wanders the surface,
belonging to no one.
Lost? Not lost.
A fish mouth nibbles its dragging toes.


*


And what is this rising from the bush,
wide-eyed, a shock of white in its hair?
The bride.
For if a lady cannot marry a proper lady for love
she must marry a prickery shrub.
She’s picking burrs and leaf litter from her tongue
with fingers gone fumbly with bandages.

A lightning bolt jerks by overhead
in search of a sweepstakes winner.
It will settle for an honest man.