There is a shark in the bath water, a frightening
fin making late night calls titled, “Bye-Bye America.”
We listen, but the dialogue is scripted in heavy
red murmurs, the spin of a rotary dial,
Russian roulette with a rhythm like
BOOM, BOOM… BOOM, BOOM,
a landscape of orbiting eyes,
guided missiles and bombs.
In defense we retreat to our homes, begin to rake
leaves, put up new shutters and bury our heads
to ignore the commotion.
My neighbor looks on from her porch, wipes her life
on her apron and calls to her children
to come in for dinner.
I confess to being uninvolved, use my remote
to obscure all the hate, listen to music
from happier days, songs with a beat
you can dance to, tunes we will play
at America’s funeral, when mourners
will say, we saw all the blood in the water
but never believed
it was fatal.
