Earthquake Ave.

The chipped cup
Was just an early indicator

When the mirror
Fell from the wall you knew it was inevitable.

We haven’t
Fallen far from our ancestral tree

Scared like our parents
Were in their builder generational clothes

We hang hammers on the loops
And tuck screwdrivers in functional pouches

We fool ourselves
Into believing that we are actually working

When we pull up into our spaces
And roll up our sleeves

The cars we drive
Are fueled by the blood of our young sons

And the flags we wave
Are stitched from the hairs of the fallen Whigs

We wish we could be royalty
And ride in the parades with the wealthy

But what we have
Is a threatened neighborhood

Fires in the distance
And a low rumbling under our feet

In houses owned by who
Knows who

We have our parties
And entertain our guests

As if tomorrow forgives us.
We pick flowers and vote

We drive
And we fuck

Making children
Who grow to be us

(in spite of their best efforts)
and enjoy their own version of what this is

and perhaps what it will be again.


-jim hill (3-30-09)