Hard Times

Political terror confronted every person in Poland under the communist system. But when I came to America, I saw that the same amount of fear can be inflicted by the economy-not by the secret police, but by the economy.

-Czeslaw Milosz

The hellish job my father lands

I'm tickled pink to celebrate,

but the sad face of my mother's hands

arranges the pigs in blankets on a plate.

Teeny uncircumcised Buddha penises

(cocktail hot dogs in strips of dough)

I gobble these puffed-up weenie geniuses

as if they'd tell me what I need to know

to get the fuck out of here.

They don't only stink of fear.

They're doom and shame and dumb pig fate.

I tell my mom I think they're great.

Dad chews his slowly with a pint of gin,

and says what he thinks of the whole deal,

including us. My mom's in tears again.

I don't know how to feel, or who to hate.

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Mar/Apr 2004
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