When I Retire
I plan to move to Mexico, to make
A little home among the natives,
Not far from the beach. I plan
To use the little money Uncle Sam
Will send to me to buy my rice
And beans and chicken, gesturing
To stolid venders in the public
Market, as my Spanish isn't very
Good. I'm sick of English, and of
This: a nation bellowing its
Greatness as it, as I, age and fade,
A hulking pauper, terrified of
Shadows, growing fond of showing
Cruelty to those, within, without,
It calls its enemies. I plan to doze
By crashing waves, to cleanse myself
Of this affliction: being an American,
And I don't see a senorita, or a worn
Senora, seeing any point in seeing me.
I'll plod each day from home to beach,
To swim, to eat, and, later, watch
(By Internet) my nation reenact
Der Fuhrer's fevered dreams,
And reenact his nation's fate,
And struggle with the characters
The victors overlay along my
Laptop lifeline's little screen,
And, as my sort is sent to prisons,
I'll say, though in English, though
To no one, I don't give a shit.
Send the check. That's all I want
America to do.
poem by Lawrence Beck
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
