Vacant Lot #1009

This was not your typical industrial accident A stack of quarters had been left on the rafters of The new generic corporate offices going up Right next door to you The sky that blanketed the structure was starving Two laborers began a debate over who was The greatest quarterback to ever live When a whistle blew Signifying their break The argument was left undecided Their machinery was left unattended When they returned from their lunch break The building frame they erected just that morning Disappeared Along with the foreman's trailer and All their co-workers They found only their tools dangling in the hungry sky A document posted on the surrounding fences Informed them that they had never actually happened The union had no record of them paying their dues One man went home to find a stranger sleeping in his bed He went on to become a Fado singer in a Night club At the bottom of the Caspian Sea The other man was discovered 27 years later Sitting atop a telephone pole in Arizona With his Allen wrench being held up to the heavens As he proclaimed that he was just Tightening the screws On the scaffolding that was holding up the galaxy

Anomaly

When finally The last brick was lowered, You inspected your creation, Your life’s work, And found something was out of place. The workers followed Your blueprint Down to every miniscule detail. Nevertheless, There existed a kink, Somewhere some nut or bolt was out of place. Your ecclesiastical secretary Obeyed the color coded directions you left, Placing each warm-blooded file In the correct document accordingly Under Janitor, Prison inmate, Infantryman. Accidently, Some incompetent filed me under University. You planned on a casualty or two, Planned on hurled stones, Planned on a few cracked eggs, But you never planned on me, A stain on the bed sheet Accidentally left behind, A glitch in the program, A digit too many in the equation. How could one destined To plow your fields, Clean your toilets, Find himself seated Beside you in your café? How could you have miscalculated? The lamb that was led to slaughter Should not have looked like you. But I suppose even god has proven to be Just a tad near-sighted, Misguided like a patriot missile Into a school you promised was a Factory of WMD’s. Someone had botched my paint job, But this could not alter the machine Humming under its hood, A spiteful engine Loathsome of his brethren, Hostile toward his Emasculated imperial father. My hue startles you, My nose and chin not how you conceived them, But make no mistake, I am your child, The product of your perversion dining beside you, My elbows on the table, Speaking with a mouth full of Chomsky, Che dripping from my runny nose. I promise to be your cancer, The tumor that festers in your cerebellum, The ache in your ankle That will nag you to your grave. So do not look so surprised When you find me dressed as you, Strolling your campus With a textbook in my mangy hand Where in truth there should have been A shovel. Do not be deceived By the smirk I send your way, It is only a cloak for My euphoric fantasy That the textbook I clutch Is actually your bloated throat.