I wish I could chew on
these time capsules, blue pills
and poodle legs have replaced
the two-wheeled weaving between
white and yellow lines, so the child will
visit before it's too late.

The bride of Frankenstein is pale
as ghost, but not everywhere, her
tanned acceptance is well hidden
within a large burlap sack that obliterates
any possible figure.

A Tiananmen Square martyr smiles under
the steal treads of a desert tank
with a red star on its side, while my
five year old takes a header over neon
green handle bars, but martyrdom
is out of the question.

Lincoln smiling at me as I pitch a
wardrobe fit at his feet, lacquering
a red face on the yuppies standing
above me in impatience, intolerance,
and shame.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...