Tag Archives: vacuums

Reflection Echo

If there’s no such thing as a vacuum
What then cleaned my carpets?
Hyperdrive a blink away

These Pyramid builder’s children
Space age thoughts ablaze
Are claiming well-spaced particles
Will drive the new space age

Secret wars of micro teams
Particles that appear to beam
Away the need for fuel

Leave it to the desert
Rich in sands of oil
To cleanse our thirsty habit

 Of drinking from the soil
Reflections of reflections bounce
These particles to action

If you think you’ve got the gist
Rethink! You know
But a refraction.

Jackie O No

I was an elegant baby, born three
short months before the crash, but never did
I beg or want, or keep my horses from
their oats, or sell their gleaming coats for cash.

I was an elegant toddler, but cried
when the Bonus Army was dispelled. They
fled from Hoover as he sucked away their
last hopes and sent them back to the Dust Bowl.

I was an elegant child, sure, but at
13, 227 forced the Russians
to fire on their own, and I couldn’t
have been a red blocking patrol, oh no.

I was an elegant teen girl, so my
step-siblings and I were mortified by
the bombs dropping on Germany, but that
was war, unlike the Empire State crash.

I was an elegant lady, with my
blood-stained pink Chanel suit and its matching
pink pillbox hat. That was the year of my
last good birthday, or maybe my only.

I was an elegant woman, and though
I was widowed not once, but twice, and the
earthquakes and the mudslides tossed up dirt passed
my knees, I died that way, too, elegant.

I was an elegant figure, icon
and royalty to a country that had
none of their own, editor in life and
in love, cursed by a name of my choosing.