Poem

Space Race

/ /

The windows are full of the people who run. There is no foreign policy. At Trader Joe’s there’s a healthy treat that’s made of broccoli.

Our relationship with Iran is going awkwardly. The windows are full of the people who run in place. In place of a state department we have autocracy.

I am reminded we all love awkwardly like people who run to the window to see if we love them. Wave. We all love awkward moments in our vast kleptocracy.

I ran to the window I ran to Iran did you see me wave? A flag of democracy caught in the draft of the people who run for office. They want to set policy

to trip us. Run. Not in place but away. What should we say to future garbology? We ran to space in place of moving forward. Not much of an apology.

At Trader Joe’s there’s a sale on figs. Crackers. Ring bologna. Food novelty. Would you run to the store or for office first if you needed shelter, possibly,

or needed love and you’d just run out. I ask these questions awkwardly. Knowing you’d choose dishonestly. Knowing we can’t love honesty.