Poem by Mebane Robertson

TROPHIES OF THE SUN

I’m writing you again, though I don’t
Know if this will make it through
The firewall or get pulled the way the last one was.
One never knows what the machine will flag, so

They are always calling me in. As per our last
Communication, I’m still being watched, but
Even when they know I know
They are friendly enough in passing.

“After all,” someone said, “We’re all on the same side
Here, Chris,” (what they call me). Since you asked,
My job description requires me to rotate
Often and aimlessly and to pretend I’m legally blind.

They can’t keep people where you are?
Try the turnover here! It’s a slaughterhouse! Your
Survival depends on not being able to see the butcher,
And not being willing to hear the crows.



Strangely, or appropriately enough if you look at the first stanza of the above, the last attempt to post a poem of Mebane's was botched, not by the firewall but by the program that doesn't like indentations. There's a way around it, of course, but in the meantime this poem without indentations is a decent segueway from the surveillance of the last post. Mebane's book is just out from the New Poets Series of Black Widow Press.