Tuesday, January 29, 2019


I can’t remember
if it’s Mangini or Pajich
whose dystopian nightmare
is a sky full of drones
doing away with work
blocking the sun
and beating out
the sound of clouds

in miniature, I understand
as I stand at the grave
of now hundred-year dead
union organizer
after twenty minutes
trying to match angels
to photographs

I locate to the grave
there is this sound
like an oil tanker
draining shots of drano
through an industrial fan

I look up, stare at a drone
staring at me and can’t figure
is this is the nsa, cia or fbi
or some derelict wondering
what I’m doing so close
to his or her property line

I wonder if this is going on my permanent
record with the recordings
my phone, and others phone

really, all I want is a minor reverence
here in the snow, with the sun blazing
in a way unaccustomed to January

I take a picture
now accessible
to whatever government
or tech giant wants them

then I want to sit
quietly, reflect on giving
ones life for a just
and equal system
for all

the drone is still hovering
I make eye contact again
twin propellers roar
I can’t find a rock
in the snow, in the grass
I deal out one middle finger
a small salute
until the drone satisfied
flies away

I get my moment
alone instead
to reflect on what freedom
means, once again

--Jason Baldinger

No comments: