StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XI, No. XLI

The girls from the state colleges
Do not write nearly as well as the girls
From the Ivys and Seven Sisters;
We don't have the breeding,
The background, or the money,
And some of us have parents,
One or both, who have voted
Republican, and we might harbor
Closet sentiments that suggest
We might actually be Capitalists.
Yes the good vegan coeds
At the good Eastern colleges
Are superior in every way
To us state girls:
They speak the best English,
Politically correct in every syllable,
Philosophize with articulate democrats
And properly educated socialists;
While us state girls are stuck
Working for a living,
They will gobble up the appointments
And prestigious non-profit grants
As they make their perfect plans
For all of our less perfect futures.

Vallejo man arrested in girlfriend's beating death
Sketch of suspect in 2 Lake Merritt sex assaults
Man gunned down in front of Oakland taco shop
Man arrested in Antioch road rage shooting

Senate panel wraps up hearings in Washington
Recession drags on in key swing states
Teacher bonuses don't raise student scores
Giants beat Cubs, maintain lead

Liberace museum closes, ending era
Vatican investigated over money claims
Jodie Foster defends Mel Gibson
Randy Jackson strikes up new Idol deal

Three dead in Arizona murder-suicide
Atlanta pastor coerced males into sex
US court upholds woman's execution
Global dementia to top 600 Billion.

I grew up in Fifties and Sixties,
Daydreaming about becoming an astronaut,
Playing centerfield for San Francisco,
Being a writer and a mother of three.
My father was a television engineer,
A designer of station transmitters,
Conversant in all things electronic
Or available in a bottle of wine;
My mother looked after me and my brother
-- This was post war America after all,
Our men, including my father who learned
To depend on smoke and drink while serving,
Were finally back from Europe and Japan --
Mom got me through Polio, Scarlet Fever,
The croup, and other childhood diseases
While she tended house, made Christmas dinner
For all our Sicilian family, and waited
For the Alzheimer's that would eventually
Strike her down; I shared my room with my
Younger brother who arrived eighteen months
Into my life (pre-polio but post only child),
Our baby boom house did not come with luxuries
Such as extra bedrooms and multiple baths:
We were a hard working nuclear family as were
Our neighbors, all of them veterans of the war,
A regular leave-it-to-beaver-disney world
Of well scrubbed kids and new schools built
Just in time to lead us into the Space Age
And Neil landing on the moon one warm July day
While I delivered roses and casket pieces
To funeral homes and new mothers.

There comes a time in our human lives
When "if I die" shifts inevitably to "when"
And the thought that the universe might continue on
Long after we're quite dead, no longer seems
Such a remote possibility.

At the halfway point
-- should I live to be one twenty --
I have suffered through close to a dozen presidents
And social gurus too numerous to count;
The next half is all down hill and you begin to wonder
"When will I stop caring?"

Somewhere down the continuum,
Xena becomes a Battlestar Cylon,
Then the lusty, naked wife
Of an upwardly grasping new Roman.
How are we to keep our timelines straight
If Xena keeps going undercover
As a manipulative, controlling woman
Who likes nothing more than jumping in bed
With one hard body after another;
And where, in all of this, is Gabrielle,
I ask you?

Your father's been murdered,
Your girlfriend's a whore,
You want to kill your mother
But not before you fuck her;
And still you philosophize
Like some ill-schooled boy
Worrying over the existence
Of the gods and when he might
Get laid.  Engage!  The world awaits
Your genius. We look forward to your
Earnest speeches while the universe
Revolves alround you.

Sitting there, legs spread,
Staring quietly at the beige-colored door,
The sound of rushing water in my eyes;
A light floral scent mixes with musk,
The clatter of heels on linoleum,
The squeak and slam of metal
Muffling the discussions of boyfriends,
Bosses, and tampons.

I remember when the past
Was still in my future,
Unencumbered by trade-offs
And alternaties;

In the time before GaGa,
When the world was young,
I thought we would overcome
Whatever was in our way;

Instead I've had a long lesson
In change management, inertia,
And the stubborn reluctance
Of the human condition.

But there was a time, when we
Were hardly older than children,
When we claimed the open road
Before us as ours and ours alone.

How to build a dinosaur,
A raptor not a vegan,
Start with teeth, sharp and many,
Curious eyes, alert and keen,
Add some claws to hands and feet
And you have most everything you need;
Except the agile brain, of course,
Of a top of the line predator,
A brain that could compete with ours,
If only given time.

The brain is everything,
And what separated raptors
From the rest of the dinopack,
The very same tool and advantage
Possessed by every species of Man,
Only millions of years and a comet later,
Than the ones owned by our
More primative ancestors.

Beware!
Something, somewhere is out to get you!
There are cannons to the left of you,
I. E. D. to the right,
Airplanes, subways, ships and railroads,
Every mother's son is out to kill you.
Beware.  BEWARE!
The government can't help,
The Army can't save you,
If you want to get out of this alive
You're gonna do it by yourself.
Alert!  Alert!
Danger, Will Robinson!  Danger!
Everyone to their stations!
Red Alert!