Sunday, December 23, 2007
Déjeuner sur l’herbe
Between me and God lies a
picnic blanket.
Between now and my death lies
an Olympic pool
of drinking water.
Take these two premises
with their gated film-set
privacy
and the road to Damascus
becomes mined
with water-melon stalls.
Like this morning,
I’m boiling
in my flak-jacket, sitting
in John’s Range Rover.
Up ahead
the Syrian guard
will surely
bum me
for a frozen Snickers
(plural noun, single candy)
from the cooler
I put
on the back seat.
// posted by George Manka @ 11:45 AM 
