The Report

How’s it like
out there?

says the chief
from behind a big desk
in a vault of an office

Well, Chief…

everyone’s wearing
plastic identity tags
at their waists and necks

and their faces are bad

grim
anxious
abstracted in worlds of their own

while the world they walk in
is blurred with noise

huge rattletrap buses
booming through the streets
and smudging the air
with burned fuel

cars screeching through the maze
under choppers
gouging the sky with the planes

and it’s HOT out there, Chief!
too hot to eat
even though you’re hungry

but when you see hot vendors
selling hot food
from hot stalls on the street

you feel disgusted
and tricked

and you stamp though the crowds
trying to stay in the shade
made by big blank buildings
with air-conditioned guts
AND EVERYONE’S IN YOUR WAY!

I admit it, Chief,
I hid in the library

it was cool in there
and quiet
(except for a few
cellphones sometimes)

and I lost myself
in books for a while…

But instead
you say fine

and he says fine

and you’re free
to go back to your desk
and type a report



.