Organization:	Whores D'oeuvres
E-Mail Address:	kathyjo@telerama.lm.com


 

World Without End

I.

1945:  the bomb had been dropped
from discussion.  Uncle Sam stepped
out of the posters and appeared 
at county fairs wearing stilts
so high he couldn't hear a thing.
Citizen surveillance was inevitable.

There were rumors of miracle
machines, mighty in their minute sizes.
Robots would replace men.
Appliances would replace women.
Deserts would bloom,
we'd put a man on the moon,
there'd be no more disease,
all our time free to spend 
with our families.  
Television was inevitable.

Sex could be trusted 
to pick up
where the war left off.

The girls were back in the kitchen 
wearing aprons pressed with sizzling 
irons of immaculate boredom.
The boys took their victories back
to factories the girls had run.
Increased productivity was inevitable.

Thanks to modern anesthetics and twilight labor
girls became Mommies as painlessly
as boys had always become Daddies.
Daddy had his Cuban cigars and cocky
smile until he came home from work 
and had to feed baby his bottle 
while Mommy talked on the phone.
Corner bars were inevitable.


II.

Daddy started making home 
movies ~ like someday
he'd need proof, evidence, 
of what, he'd never know.

The bar of hot lights needed 
to film Junior's first Christmas
made baby cry and Mommy yelled.
Daddy was always too close,  
out of focus, never
in any of the movies.

He operated the projector,
but when everyone was sleeping
he played the movies backwards
*suddenly he's wearing a smoking jacket, 
holding a brandy snifter.  He's blowing smoke 
rings into the polluted Pittsburgh night,
waiting for some broad*
reminder of the president
he was supposed to be.  

He gave at the office, leaving 
little time for home movies, 
but he bought a new Super-8 camera.  
The film moved so fast, he could shoot
with only the light of birthday candles,

five of them, at a party for their youngest
about to start kindergarten.  Mommy cried 
because she wanted another baby 
something to hold  and Daddy saw it all
through one zooming eye.  

By the time the kids 
are teen-agers, movies will talk.  
He'll have had enough.




copyright 1994 kathy jo kramer
all rights reserved and shit