1, 2, Buckle my shoe 3, 4, Shut the door…

pablo war


how is it done, and when it is done, how is it still not over?

the playpen lords of sub plots and statistical bylines are dividing and devising – my momma and your momma are meeting over a fence, or over a cup of 8:00am coffee – your brother is in the army; maybe coming home or maybe dying – the club foot is in the throat of a warbler who has quit his once delightful singing…

how is it done, and when it is done, how is it still not over?

the big hair bands, and the old hippies throw rocks out of their tour bus windows – an old man is yelling and palsy shaking like a general ordering an army “salute and defend me” – the flag, an old glory headache drapes a Washington or a Lincoln body before shamelessly parading down main st. without pity.


now that it is done, and if it is done, what then will happen?

will you rage, will the stairs begin to climb, will flak still light up the sky over a past tense beach? or will you join your momma at the table drinking nervous coffee and talk about the brother who did not come home, chanting his nickname again and again, believing like witches that you and your efforts will have a positive effect?

now that it is done, and if it is done, what then will happen?

there is no horse to saddle, no train to ride, no astral travel that will take you away from your job counting beans and taping pictures of you scraping together a scrap or a crumb to feed your intellectual bird family – so now you know that you can’t think yourself out of what you thought your way in-to – and still you don’t feel better…


when you change and if you change, will there be a better future?

their banks will still hold more money than can be mentioned – their ammo and marching orders are endless and will still fall like leaflets from steel altars. tell your momma to brew more coffee, they aren’t through, their world requires sons and now even daughters to hunt animals like commandos, and thats OK, cuz it’s for your own good.


if it could be different, what would you have to lose that you value?




Image By Pablo Picasso

(with a hat tip to A Poetic Justice)

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3 responses to “1, 2, Buckle my shoe 3, 4, Shut the door…

  1. You ask some BIG questions, my friend. Unfortunately, I only have tiny answers. Or maybe no answers.

  2. Deeply moving and poignant piece. I wish we had answers, but at least you are asking the questions.

  3. mad – my questions was my tiny answer…thanks.

    veronicaromm – Thanks, should I continue… 🙂

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