GODDESS: Poetryman, don’t you want to know where all those walking or non-walking wounded are?
TPM: No! I don't wanna know the horrors of my government's complicity! I would much rather get lost in American Idol and imagine that the world's fate rests with the dismissal or eventual crowning of Sanjaya Malakar. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an oven waiting for my head.
GODDESS: Whoah! Before you stick your head in there, answer me this, where have they all gone?
TPM: They signed up for it.
GODDESS: Yes. They signed up for it thinking they’d be taken care of if wounded. Right?
TPM: You go to war with the army you have and you come back to the country you traipsed off to defend.
GODDESS: Whatever… I was thinking as I was driving into work this morning, “Where the hell are they hiding; all the wounded of this war? Does anyone else see them?" Do you?
TPM: O Jesus! Of course I see them, Goddess! They are getting the finest medical care known to man! Anyone with half a brain knows that. They are America's soldiers of fortune. Not their own, but fortunes none the less.
GODDESS: You’re off your meds again aren’t you?
TPM: What? I never was on them!
GODDESS: Then might I suggest you begin and do not swallow them with Koolaid.
TPM: Whatever. And now, Goddess, if you'll excuse me, I have to run out in front of an oncoming train.
GODDESS: Too late.
TPM: Too late for what?
GODDESS: Train’s already run today.
TPM: Oh.
GODDESS: This weekend I’ll be walking for peace, how about you?
TPM: Rather not and say I did.
GODDESS: It’s your prerogative. March or don’t march, just don’t come crying to me when they round you up as an enemy pacifist.
TPM: An enemy pacifist? What the hell does that mean?
GODDESS: I’m not sure, but I’ll be walking for peace this weekend anyway, which reminds me of something Mother Teresa said.
TPM: Now why in hell would that remind you of something Mother Teresa said?
GODDESS: It’s a walk for peace, poetryman.
TPM: Okay?
GODDESS: Mother Teresa said,"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."
TPM: Sure. It's a fine little cliché of a quote and all, Goddess, but I’m a wee bit perplexed by it.
GODDESS: How so?
TPM: The “we belong to each other” part… I belong to no one! I pay my taxes, buy gas, eat out at McDonalds, fine-dine at Burger King, buy my groceries at Wal-Mart and have my oil changed there, too. I’d suggest you do the same.
GODDESS: You can’t be serious. Can you?
TPM: You’re damn skippy I’m serious! That protest and marching stuff is so nineteen-sixties! It’s passé. Anarchy went out with the eight-track tape my friend. It’s retired or dead. I’ve heard it’s either living in one of Cher’s wigs or floating face down on Golden Pond. Either way ya stroke it it's a few thumps from oblivion.
GODDESS: No. It lives my friend. Open your eyes and you’d see.
TPM: Yada yada yada… Oh! I almost forgot to set the timer on the recorder! Can't miss tonight’s American Idol. …Yip. Me and the wife and the child are going to see the latest greatest that our fine American Cinema has to offer! We’ve watched our personal collection of movies so much that the picture's are all squiggly. Some don't play at all. Hell! Our favorite, Top Gun, is barely discernable!
GODDESS: Top Gun?
TPM: You’re damn skippy! It is one of the finest cinematic achievements in modern memory!
GODDESS: You really need to medicate yourself before you hurt somebody.
TPM: Whatever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Goddess, I have to put a bullet in my gun.
GODDESS: Don’t let me stop you.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
I'm Sorry World
