privileged kids of ironic mothers
the scream comes from the center of the civilized world
the pitch is unendurable, its source, a little boy near his mother
in a coffee shop in my town
the moms laugh and speak unreacting
boats brighten in the April light
boats and cars and roads into and out of town are in a sense talismanic,
having an elastic complaisance that may one day bring us unimaginable trouble
and in that time, when the little phones ring
and the earth
seems to hump with giants
we will welcome screaming
©2002 All Rights Reserved. Peter Chapman