Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Déjeuner sur l’herbe

Between me and God lies a well-loaded picnic blanket.

Between now and my death lies an Olympic pool of drinking water.

Take these two premises
with their “gated community” mind-set

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.

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