Carole Glasser Langille
The World has Suffered a Stroke
Of the homeless men shuffling to the shelter
half will be turned away.
The morning light is threadbare, days sutured
together. The sutra is: NOTHING FOR YOU.
A palsied wind blows through blankets.
On the grating, vermin crawl over ankles. Shadows calve
shadow. A woman wakes, swaying on the curve
of her breath, sun arrayed on the oily slick
beneath her. The sky is uncomfortably
close. Will the flies in its grey entrails
swarm her? Will they bring the old diseases
into this new century, which has suddenly grown
numb? This world has trouble seeing
out of both eyes. It is unable
to understand. Or recognize
what is happening. Ask what day
it is. Ask it to smile. To raise
both hands. Then rob it blind.
Who will see?
Page(s) 194
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