New | Two Poems | T S Hidalgo

by Howard Kanovitz, Image via worldwideweb

Kanovitz’s Vernissage, by Haneke

(The McDonaldization of terrorism)

 

George Ritzer and a corner are not the same thing:

enclosed, the vernissage fifteen, in an unending McDonald's,

in the attic of a skyscraper,

gasoline smell and no Process,

without having been able to call your loved ones

(or already having lost them? maybe).

In this billionth case of terrorism,

they detected you had arrhythmias,

all sorts of disturbances

(one of the fifteen lost the twins he was waiting for); 

no medication none,

yes, really, all of this is, potentially, a red Postdamer Platz:

no coffees no theaters no tobacco shops no square:

a terrace, an attic:

just a desert a yard a Gothic cemetery.

Those fifteen arrogant bearings

would have to return humiliated:

you, for whom spring was consecrated;

no medication none,

yes, really, all of this is, potentially, a red Postdamer Platz:

no coffees no theaters no tobacco shops no square:

a terrace, an attic:

just a desert a yard a Gothic cemetery.

Those fifteen arrogant bearings

would have to return humiliated:

you, for whom spring was consecrated;

Song-objection-obsession, facing a grave not

William Carlos Williams’

 

In a tank, the cited obsession.

A prosperous eccentric, war veteran,

decides, every once in a while,

to steamroll the door of a nearby cemetery,

pulls his body up through the hatch,

and hums, walking through hallways,

names of his fellow soldiers,

there, under his eight wheels,

while, in the background now, he thinks,

facing the cross of his beloved, to himself

“We weren't married yet, of course,”

but, also,

“These are just the rules, right?”