[April 2, 2002]
am in suspended animation,
bathing in the dulcet tones of NPR,
the Beeb reporting from Ramallah
that the Israelis
want Yasser Arafat to leave.
I think I might invite him
To spend the summer here
With me, chasing trout with flies,
While things calm down back home
Find their own stasis.
I'll keep his identity secret,
Suggest he get a shave, dye his hair
And spike like a skateboarder,
Tell him to low rude his trou,
Wear Doc Martens,
Call him Y. A., like Tittle
The old NY Giant who was bloodied
In his own right and led his people to the NFL grail.
We'll hang out on the Au Sable, let Y.A. fish
With Ariel Linsenman,
get shouted at for imperfect casts,
Tell him to leave his C-3 and boom-kapowies
Home, that we don't really dig
Suicides and murders on our rivers,
Though we've all been tempted
At various moments.
You want Jihad, Y. A., let's go chase big brownies
On the big water below Mio, whaddya say?