Awake Against the Mourning

A Poem from October, 2005

Awake Against the Mourning
10/29/2005
David C. Roberson

Pumping iron,
losing weight—
a vain attempt
to self displace
the need to be,
but be less than
your neighbor.

Malnutrition,
starving mind.
Stomach clinging
to your spine.
Changing sizes,
I don’t mind.
It’s just the price of labor.

The rising sun,
the break of dawn—
a bird will sing
his bracing song.
From my bed
I hear him caw
and grit my teeth
in anger.

The crow—
he screams,
and I awake.
I eat wheat germ,
pontificate.
The rooster is at
summer camp.
Meanwhile, present turns
to later.

Better me,
and push you down.
Spread the word
of hate around.
Flex your arm,
and let’s see who
in this room
might be stronger.

Mankind spins
upon the globe,
but so does shit
inside its bowl.
We stink and rot
as we grow old,
put death off
till tomorrow.

Opinions slurred
and beliefs heard—
God becomes
a dirty word.
Everyone
in holy war,
the jihad
we’re still fighting.

It’s war-time rules.
We shall prevail;
Then we’ll abuse them
in our jails.
The subject matter’s
getting stale,
but I stay freshly sorry.

Different grades
of AC filters,
social conscience
is off-kilter.
Right-wing, left-wing,
commie scum,
multi-flavored bubblegum—
choose either one,
and you’ll be stuck;
accused of blind compliance.

The sun, it falls,
and darkness reigns.
Night-time demons
fill their veins.
I writhe inside conflicted dreams,
until my neighbors start to sing,
blasting karaoke
so I crawl under cover.

I do the same thing
every day.
I think of she who
slipped away—
but what of she
who I might catch?
She’s just around
the corner.

Still I fight
to stay asleep
while crows and roosters
at me scream.
The sunlight
through my curtains creeps.
I’m wide awake
in mourning.