The world fills with Eleanor Rigbys
buried without funeral . . . without music . . .
with fossilized smiles
while looters . . . making off with paper weights
disguised as MacBook Pros . . . demand compensation . . .
Barricades seethe with anger . . .
Your favorite things lie smashed curbside . . .
The healing grows incredibly slow
as if cells object to expending energy on a jalopy
en route to the junk heap . . .
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son? . . .
Tom Corrado is a retired civil servant and teacher. His poems have appeared in Chronogram, Exquisite Corpse, Hudson River Arts, Metroland, and Up The River, among others, and have been anthologized in Poetry Don’t Pump Gas, Peer Glass, I Thought My Father Was God, and US 20. His publications, including a dump a day (365 screen dumps), are downloadable at archive.org. He Zooms a monthly poetry group at the Rensselaerville, NY library and curates its annual poem-a-day in celebration of National Poetry Month. He lives in the mountains 30 miles southwest of Albany, NY.
Previously published at scriptsfortoday.blogspot.com.
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