Pretzel, Pretzel ...

15 January 2002
by Joe Futrelle

pretzel, pretzel, in my throat,
who's the leader who can gloat?
who can watch a football game
when all around the world's aflame?
hey, that rhymed, I'm pretty clever
I bet that I could do another
I'm glad the gov of fla's my brother
and that our nation is strong.
but wait, what's that? a little tickle
down where beer and pretzels trickle
down where words can fail to form
a crumb, and means to do me harm!
a tiny speck, no bigger than
a hanging chad -- not those again!
now I cannot breathe no more
my head is heading for the floor
down with the dogs whose eyes implore
and I thought I heard one quoth: "nevermore".
I thank the Lord for what I've won
elections, wars, I had me some
and pray the Lord my soul to keep
at St. Peter's ranch, some cows and sheep
and tons of shares of oil stock
and football games at three o'clock ...
hark! who's there? it's just them hounds
wagging as I come around
Hello rover, hello spot
hello fishing, hello yacht
hello football, hello bombs
hello meetings, hello mom
we'll never falter, never fail --
excepting when our pretzel's stale --
and when it's over, when we've won
I'll fear the pretzel, not the gun.

Medea's Cloak Returned

9 January 2002
by Michael Feltes

There are moments when I awaken
that I feel like my bed clothes are on fire
There's suffering woven into the fabric:
the pain of mothers walking beside their young daughters into the gaping
maw of the sweatshop
(Take Your Child To Work Day taken to a grotesque power)
the tremendous exhaustion for the laborer at the end of a 16 hour day
exhaustion that grows a little bit each day, for there are no days off
no rest for the weary
and the desperation, the tremendous desperation that must be theirs
as they try to stretch 18 cents an hour into the necessities of life
I'm sure that if they had an accountant, he would be able to play
magic with the numbers, make them into a sustainable budget
Sort of a postmodern Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes
But alas, no help is forthcoming
And so when I first awaken
and am most open
least cluttered
the sheets burn when they touch my skin
my sympathy inflames the suffering woven into the 230-count 100% cotton
sheets
But as I get more and more distracted by my life
that consciousness goes away

cheap flags

12 January 2002
by Kate McDowell

Cheap flags.
Only 3 months of war
and they're already tattered.
Strips of white and red
trail behind Subarus.
Blue fields, once smaller in
surrounding rectangles,
feel their demise creeping
slowly up the stripes.
Some stars try to escape, they
don't want to be part of this
flag, they try to fly off in the highway wind,
only to discover that
they're all sewn on or stained into
the self-same fraying fabric,
losing threads,
shredding slowly
behing this
speeding
machine.

A Three Part Discussion on
Nukes, Famine, Omar, Jobs,
Jesse Helms, and The Hague

28 December 2001
by Anne Bargar

The "president" put up his dukes
and he's forgot about Pakistan's Nukes
and refuses to examine
our part of the famine
in a war that was more than a fluke

The Times says jobs are "shedding"
and Reuters says they are "bleeding"
the van's tires flattened
by egos now fattened
has naught to do with Omar's "absconding"

he speaks of each enemy as though its a plague,
Jesse Helms wants to blow up The Hague
we don't commit war crimes
wars are just bad times
where the reporting is ever so vague

HEADLINES FROM 2001

8 January 2002
Sam Markewich

MOTHER NATURE MISTAKEN FOR AL QUEDA MEMBER,
KILLED IN CAVE BOMBINGS

ALBINO CAVE-DWELLING SKINKS MASSACRED BY US
BOMBS

HUMMER JEEPS SERIOUS DETERENT FOR SUICIDE
BOMBERS ON BAY BRIDGE

ENRON PLACED ON US GOV. TERRORIST LIST

CONSUMERS BUY MASSIVE QUANTITIES OF BULLSHIT
ABOUT PATRIOTISM, SHOPPING

NEW YORK CITY SLATED TO BECOME MAJOR
CORPORATION SAYS NEXT MAYOR

BUSH, MISSILE DEFENSE: I SEE B.M.

U.S. TELLS WORLD, "IF YOU'RE NOT ON OUR SIDE, WELL
FUCK YOU THEN!"

WHITE MEN PROFILED AS INNOCENT WIN TRILLIONS
IN DISCRIMINATION SUIT

WOMEN REMOVE VEIL IN AFGANISTAN; U.S G
OVERNMENT DONS VEIL IN AMERICA

BUSH POPULARITY AT 80%, COMPETING WITH NBC'S
"FRIENDS"

W's SOU

1 February 2002
by Joe Futrelle

At PDX people cluster around
omnipresent TV's, and longish bursts of static
can be heard, or maybe it's applause.

CNN is carrying W's SOU live,
and congress keeps dutifully leaping to its feet and
clapping. W doesn't hide how entitled
he feels to this applause; after each flourish
he pauses and seems, for a moment, lost,
squinting, and when at last after that agonizing gap,
W's most recent platitude hovering unsupported,
it comes, his lips smirk: see, I told you so.

That tiny gap contains my hopes and dreams,
the still point where W's legitimacy
and that of the institutions that reproduce him
is instantaneously in doubt. Then, I am alive,
I have the power to resist,
listen, imagine that gap stretching forever,
congress walking out silently,
W blubbering, speechless, the teleprompter dim,
as The People begin to file in.

Then it's over. I gather my ticket and ID card
and head for the security checkpoint.