lawns buzz with
suburbanites & their
crisscross plots mixed
with soiled sob stories,
the world a reality show
run by ink-mad producers
hell-bent on canned applause
& percentage points & meanwhile
next door Kenny admires a beer can
from the deck of a Cub Cadet
finally enjoying the privileged
life of a bastard with no regrets
since his wife left with some
schmo around the block
& the kid across the way
with the skater girlfriend
has no idea what awaits
ten or fifteen years down
the road but isn’t that the
province of youth & the
price we pay for hope?


the drone
its payload
high above
the Afghan
desert, an
calculating who
lives or dies
the all-seeing
eyes of
swapping bad
jokes in binary,
a reddit post
gone wild
the work
of our
see what
terror sets
in motion,
a goldberg
machine of
planes &
towers &
fear & anger
& platoons
& isn’t that
the way it goes
until someone
finally says enough
& funny how
it’s never
who you expect
& of course
all this tech
was supposed
to make
our lives
so much
softer &
I’m still waiting
for the jetpack
& hovercraft
the 1950s
promised &
we are oh so
close thanks
to this never-
ending war
but now we
look for the
robots delivering
pizza, packages
from Amazon,
& bombs from
Uncle Sam &
we’re all guilty
of something
worth dying for
so look out:
the skies
are watching