Eisenhower Age

When she was a child,
Mary was
Glad to see the sunshine,
Glad to feel the warm wind,
Glad to walk the rough roads.

Living in the pre-war
haze of youthfulness,
she considered the things she loved:
Her hopes--
endless and undimmed.

Her ambitions--
Infinite and unbound.

But then the adulthood
fell on her head.

Living in the post-war
haze of domesticity,
She pops pills of
the smiling somnambulists.
She remembers…
riveting tank parts on
an assembly line.
She remembers…
An open meadow with
Sun-singed tall grass.
She remembers…
A broad blue sea of
Sky with rolling
Mountains of cloud.

Living in the post-war haze of domesticity,
She considers the things
She buys on credit:
Her appliances--
Miniaturized and encased
In molded plastic.
Her ambitions--
Miniaturized and encased
In molded plastic.
But now she hears of this Polish prophet preaching
The blessings of the burning.
Flying Saucer seer
With blistered skin like
Stigmata
And brown eyes crying crimson.

They picked him as their preacher,
Like Ezekiel to the angels.
They come,
Beautiful brethren with blessings
Of the sunward Paradise.
They come,
To burn away all the Vanity of a
Lipstick Age.

Burn away suburban lies.
Burn away your Valium highs.
Burn away your magazine face.
Our sunward siblings from
The higher place.
Burn away your credit-based life.
Burn away your Cold War strife.
Burn away your televised fears.
Grant us the wisdom of your
Elder years.

When her husband is away at work,
Mary walks to the
Steel tower behind her house.
Its power lines hum
Warmly in the tongue
Of our brethren from beyond.
Monday through Friday,
She comes to this
Atomic Age alter
Eisenhower Age

When she was a child,
Mary was
Glad to see the sunshine,
Glad to feel the warm wind,
Glad to walk the rough roads.

Living in the pre-war
haze of youthfulness,
she considered the things she loved:
Her hopes--
endless and undimmed.

Her ambitions--
Infinite and unbound.

But then the adulthood
fell on her head.

Living in the post-war
haze of domesticity,
She pops pills of
the smiling somnambulists.
She remembers…
riveting tank parts on
an assembly line.
She remembers…
An open meadow with
Sun-singed tall grass.
She remembers…
A broad blue sea of
Sky with rolling
Mountains of cloud.

Living in the post-war haze of domesticity,
She considers the things
She buys on credit:
Her appliances--
Miniaturized and encased
In molded plastic.
Her ambitions--
Miniaturized and encased
In molded plastic.
But now she hears of this Polish prophet preaching
The blessings of the burning.
Flying Saucer seer
With blistered skin like
Stigmata
And brown eyes crying crimson.

They picked him as their preacher,
Like Ezekiel to the angels.
They come,
Beautiful brethren with blessings
Of the sunward Paradise.
They come,
To burn away all the Vanity of a
Lipstick Age.

Burn away suburban lies.
Burn away your Valium highs.
Burn away your magazine face.
Our sunward siblings from
The higher place.
Burn away your credit-based life.
Burn away your Cold War strife.
Burn away your televised fears.
Grant us the wisdom of your
Elder years.

When her husband is away at work,
Mary walks to the
Steel tower behind her house.
Its power lines hum
Warmly in the tongue
Of our brethren from beyond.
Monday through Friday,
She comes to this
Atomic Age alter
To feel its kind,
Irradiating truths.
She smiles,
Crying crimson.