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So, the child of hippies sometimes regrets her payment to the system. Resistance. Word.

Clicked Some Things

Clicked some things on the internet and activated me, or something, because I got a form letter from the congressman, the one who was born in Puerto Rico but who opposes laws to help immigrants. The letter said, “Dear Anna, though we do not now and will not ever agree on Second Amendment issues, I hope we can still be friends. I can’t. Sorry. Can’t open the channels of communication ( what are they, anyway? where are those damn channels) to someone who believes as you do, sorry, so sorry, can’t. Because kindergarten. Because weapons. Because advertising that looks like news, because Black Sabbath and because Unions, because the rhetoric of my raising, because birth.

Clicked some things on the internet today about coal. Clicked some things about fracking, clicked like on all the sciencey earthy stuff, indexed some good into the world, maybe, or maybe the clicking and liking destroyed me and my violence, maybe it ate my resolve and my gas and my determination.

Here’s the question. Will we fight for this river, this lake, and how? How? After work, with big signs? Or do we go incendiary on the infrastructure? This parcel I call my own, how do I fight? Here is what the second amending means: it means I get a tank or battleship. Because you won’t oppose anything I get a tank and a battleship.

Not for hunting wabbits or ungulates, but for, for, for,

nothing.

Clicked Born in the USA, Clicked Fortunate Son, Clicked on What it’s Worth. Goodness sakes, we can make the art without the war, goodness sakes we could solve this if only  you gave up your screens, for great goodness, there’s something happening here.

Drone de drone drone drone.

What does it take now, to get us to the microphone, to get us up on stage and across the tracks? It takes days off, let’s take back the day of labor and roar, let us take it and spill it across the tracks, I have posters to make and humans to chain and megaloads to stop, I have coal cars to reckon with and spillage to sluff, I have fish to save and mountains to save and forests to save and saving to do,

I have all the work to do, and all you have left to do is

drone.

Call in the weapons and bombs, you children of women, go ahead and swing your rulers back and forth and compare. Go right ahead and rain down missiles on the waiting children, go ahead with your sanguinary lines. Just go ahead, because we will be here to pick it up,

We will be here to clean up, not we US, but us the women, we’ll pick up the bodies on the dead ground, and maybe it’s sexist but maybe it’s true, we wouldn’t choose this, if we were you.

Accidental rhyme.

Where is the something happening? Should we take a stroll on the grass of a campus, because pretty sure it isn’t the fortunate ones who will carry us all into the spangles, pretty sure there

is happening there. Click on the petition and sign your name. Or, you could sing it, you could sing it or art it or poem it or what, you could take it down, in pencil or string, take it, stop now, what’s that sound, take it on the radio, how much more could I entreat you, stop now with your sabbath and prayers, stop it, stop the belief that ends in masses, just click it off

with the brushstrokes.

******************

Another Earth poem. It’s real, though. Happy Friday, poemies.

 

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