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By series: Bridge St  In Yr Ear  Ruthless Grip


let's tell the V.P. to quit
his shell games

quit your shell games V.P.

but now is not the time
to talk about this

we like our S.U.V.s organic and our
shuteyes jammed with jingoism
and our doldrums shaped like chevrons

our curiosity piqued by
a tent in the V.P.'s lawn
peaked like seafoam or meringue

now is not not
the time now is not
the time

the oilman said, there's no privacy in this tent

a decimation
this abundance
this unstoppable as we

when the oilman heard windmill he thought

This poem appears in the 2003 Anthology
View all poems by Kaia Sand