Let’s call it a poem because it has no direction, no meaning, no purpose some rhyme.
Just words on a page (but not a real page) anointed with feelings from time
that no one remembers, or hardly recalls– when life didn’t matter,
especially your life or mine.
Sadness prevailed and cowards were pussies and pussies were cowards alike,
Bombs fell on Baghdad and nobody asked me so I got drunk and I rode my bike.
Now I care more, (still nobody asks)
I ride bikes, but not like I did.
I ride them for pleasure (for glory! for pain!)
While others can’t ride now or walk, or eat breakfast, or kiss, make love, or sweat money-
or die a quick death like their friends.
The smart ones care nothing for the lives of others.
It’s a sucker’s bet once and for all,
The night bombs fell on Baghdad nobody asked me and so I did nothing at all.