August 2006

TECHNOBABE

 

I know you’re busy right now watching old storms,

The Hitler documentaries, and bogus UFO sightings,

A hair-fall medley of public questioning, Able Danger

And the terra-byte deletion of Al Caeda data, or only

Somewhat concerned with the latest barroom gossip

What some no-dick down at the jungle room said.

 

Whatever, remember, it was ice age woman that

got us here, invented our way thru global disaster.

Has TV turned you into passive observers not able

To respond to significant events, love of neighbor

Love of country, just plain love of good ole earth?

I found a letter the other day, not to whom it may

Concern, but to any creatures out there in the skim

Milk Galaxy, who happen to be listening, right now.

 

Dear Aliens, it says, we fucked up our planet so

Bad we can’t fix it by ourselves, please help us

By using your awesome technologies, and, if you

Want to eat a few of us, that’s ok, too. Love earth.

 

Holy golden hash browns, bat-guy, what do we do?

 

Stay tuned for more updates at 7PM, check out

What went wrong, watch it all hang upside down

Over the pit of doom while we make room for the

Next  installment of mankind, as the rotisary turns.

 

Watch what happens when word begins to spread

By rumor and hearsay, you’ll love this hot new-age

Development. If you can read, if you still have any

Electricity, follow the menu items with your bread

Crum logic, look whose standing around cook pots.

This poem was written on recycled gum wrappers.

 

Despite geographic illiteracy, the ice age and global

Disasters are not over, the flesh tones on the map

Are still evolving and the despots are still saying

“Let em eat Twinkies”.  It’s called irony when you

end up on the side of something only to be half

Wrong or half right, or partly to blame, not even in

A state of noble grace, giving aid and comfort or

Making colossal fun of it on TV, right up until its

Raining raisins, and neither Shark Boy nor Lava

Girl can save us, dispensing severe looks of dis-

Approval as they race toward the streak of dawn.

 

No matter what happens I’m taking my girlfriend

With me, technobabe, don’t go away, I want you by

My side every step of the way, hell or high water.

Last night she told me that I should start building.

 

Never mind gasoline tankers, cars on the shoulder,

The burning bus. There are enough situations on

The situation room wall screen, right now, to keep

Eyes busy, whether it’s too-late-Timmy who’s crying

Fly me a nozzle or it’s a horse that just needs a nail.

 

You can show all the facts, carcasses, birds gathered

On corpses, point to the maps, spark panic in the park,

But the answer is yes, yes-but, as always, conditionally,

I would evac, but there’s nowhere to park my ark.