Saturday, July 17, 2010

Poem: City of Ships

The other day, people working at the WTC site uncovered a boat. This was the first or second article I read about it. I made a poem entirely from words and phrases I found in the comment thread. (I'm reading Walt Whitman, so the title was also a found object.)



Nine years, a billion dollars later,
a murder scene.
History is unearthed -
an old ship.
Shabby, derelict vessel,
what one calls junk.
Just a little distraction.

The site, the site of the ship,
was part of the Hudson River.
It is sad, going to deteriorate,
to dry and rot (and warp).
Aerobic microbes
need oxygen to live,
just like people
need a history lesson.

Did they find dinosaur bones, burial grounds,
towers, treasures, slave ships,
the ships that bring in supplies, salaries, corpses?
A bone fragment of those hijackers?
Feed it to the dog.

I just hope
we buried it again.
Archaeologists, 200 years from now,
saddest days,
will search the internet, our landfills
to discover it all
about us.
How we once lived -
self centered and wasteful,
millions wasted,
afraid of our government.
Things that are not that important,
remnants, excavated and documented.
Think of the Roman Empire,
maybe just give up.

Great news!
The internet is only
stored on various computers.
The content disappears
It's not like internet sites fossilize!

Time to rebuild.
Freedom Tower is rising as I type.
We will stand tall again.
So Manhattan is built
on a big junk pile.
An old boat -
wasn't worth writing about then,
not worth writing about it now.
Junk to us too.
Move it and keep building.
On to the next story.