I was placed near a window
where I could look out at myself--
my bushes, my backyard grass,
a bit of my sky and cloud,
my little birds,
telephone wires and power lines
so my people could chatter and watch TV.
A newspaper flapped into view,
apples on sale, hybrid cars popular,
arguments getting uglier, deaths mounting.
The paper blew away, the sun went down,
I could feel my Afghanistan
grating against my Iran,
my Congo slumping under.
Too many pus-filled maladies
always getting poked with sticks,
I needed to be a philosopher
but hadn't heard from God in a while,
I slept and dreamed I jumped orbit
to see new sights but none would have me,
so I found a dark corner and circled.
When the sun came up I forced myself to carry on,
crying seawater, helping one thing at a time.
© 2007 Mark Giffin