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Elias Miller

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Member Since: Jan, 2008

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This Child of Nine-Eleven
by Elias Miller

Thursday, January 24, 2008
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Recent poems by Elias Miller
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Written on the fifth anniversary of that day which destroyed the world as we knew it.

Born with the breaking of metal and glass,
I passed through an orifice like a TV screen
Into the bright sheen of a media campaign
Red white and blue red white and blue
As I tumbled to the checkerboard floor in the hospital
Where spin doctors picked me up and cooed
“The truth. The truth. The truth,” they said,
“Is that we love you, our sweet consumer.”

Rumor has it my garden is full of terror plots
Tilled by nimble fingers that linger over vulnerable power plants
And spots where scant defense lines are scratched in dry soil.
Hot days are spent rubbing oil beneath straw hats
Buzzed by military flybys
Spies are everywhere
Terror is everywhere
Blooming like white convolvulus, weaving its way into desert sands
Abrams are jammed in a bad gag commute
Hands, tied by ticker tape news,
Outline the rise (and fall) of the price of crude,
Imply democracy while others pay our rent.
Let’s portray sporadic resistance
(Turn your head and cough)
Then in the distance the bombs go off
And everyone bows down to our (fallen) monument.

(Cue theme music)

Five years on with my umbilical still attached
I come back to TV for warmth,
Your glow of digital manipulation.
Mama mama mama
Don’t abandon this child
Stay with me stay with me stay with me
Keep me awake, keep me abreast
With news breaks and shakes of paranoia
Amid earthquakes and floods and the falling stars

Keep me safe in my shell
Keep me safe in my shell
Keep me safe in my shell.

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