I like times like this. Nobody around.
I can pound on the keyboard
fight with that recalcitrant piece of code
or turn the music up as loud as I want.
Hmmm? Computer says that the runs are done.
Wierd. I’ve never seen curves like that before…
oh c’mon… that doesn’t make sense!…
Gotta check this. Gotta check this data.
Who could make sense of this?
Rightrightrightright… Malc and Cas.
They’ll know what to do.
And they’ll keep their mouths shut.
f it’s garbage, we can’t let anybody know!
If it’s true… my god.
If it’s true…
the world is going to…
I don’t understand why they are so upset!
We don’t have the money to pay for the doctors.
(That’s why the hospital emergency rooms are closing.)
We don’t have the money to pay for the books.
(That’s why the schools need to be amalgamated.
We can’t afford to look at each person as an individual.
(That’s why we practice “zero tolerance” welfare programmes.)
The feds won’t give us more money.
The municipalities won’t give us more money.
The people won’t give us give us more money.
“We don’t have any choice.”
It’s only “common sense”.
If we don’t have the money, then something has to go.
The things our critics are saying will never happen.
If people just worked harder, they wouldn’t need welfare.
If teachers just stopped with their demands, the schools would be fine.
If everyone would quit opposing privatized health care,
there would be services enough for all.
Babies born in bus shelters? Bah! It would never happen here.
I won’t allow it.
The only one on duty.
Everybody else is sleeping, playing cards, or drinking day old coffee.
But I’m here, watching the monitors.
The light flickering, monotonously, as I look from screen
When I begin to see –
no – to hear
no! – to feel –
hundreds of wings flapping around me,
the movement of the air battering my body.
And we begin to see –
no – to hear –
no! – to feel –
thousands of eyes watching our movements.
A schizophrenic’s nightmare of voices filling our minds…
trying to tell us something important.
The awe in those voices, those eyes, those wings, nearly burning
away our flesh with their intensity.
“Be not afraid, for I bring you good news of great joy!”
We leave behind the flickering, the bunks, the cards, the coffee…
and move towards the angels’ song.
She’s fourteen years old… and looks it.
Nine months pregnant,
with a face that says that she’s more than ready to “have this baby now!”
The man beside her, the one with the huge hands…
the one who’s old enough to be her father…
the one who has hitchiked with her, walked beside her, protected her…
has no idea what to do.
Nowhere to go.
No ambulance on its way.
No one to offer support or warmth or love
No one but each other.
in a bus shelter.
Close your eyes, imagine the stars… and listen.
(I wrote this a few years ago. Haven’t quite figured out what I’d like to do with it, yet.)