After shouting at the ground personnel
he returned to his seat—fuck!
waiting for him some McDonald’s lunch
inside a styro and a drink.
He turned to the body on the other
bench and asked her,
“Aren’t you incensed? They are
making us wait for uncertainty!”
All he got was a weird nod.
In my country, the day we are
born is the day we start our
lifelong training of patience.
We’ve accepted scarcity, we’ve accepted
centuries of oppression. There is
no use for speaking up. Our
silence, inaction,—either a precious
inheritance or a terrible
control mechanism.
An alternative: Acceptance are
revolt—“Nothing can ever disturb
me. I choose peace.”
A stanza inherits the spectacle
from this line
to this
the way we lust to follow
the tracks of a poet
following another