Life and War with Mikey Fatboy Delgado
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Far into this government
… a thousand potions to make you smell better?
And people sleeping on the streets? – Howard Zinn
Coming to Cambridge on wet afternoons
In winter, far into this government,
Sees an old philosophy developed,
A comatose religion of careless
Photography, pictures taken, arm’s length,
Of their own composed and smiling faces
And old buildings; and unremarkable
Beside all the doorways, sodden humans,
Barely optimistic to ask for change.
It seems from across the street, surveying
The damp bedclothes of her day room, that love
Would be a close held hug, a slow stroking
Of her wet hair, a kiss of lips to brow,
Remembrance that the barely breathing girl
Is someone’s daughter in another life.
For whatever reason, early onset
Or sentimental romanticising,
Or wishing, or resiling from rescue,
The thin drizzle stops and she is beneath
An orchard tree, her now young face at ease,
And in someone’s voice calling her is love.