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The envelopes of powder keep on coming,
Snowing rashes in assistants' hands;
US rations rain Islamic lands;
CNN hails, “Falling sky!” and bumming
Out the ordinary Joes and Janes
Who swear off letters and domestic planes.
The newsprint whispers horror, gently stains
The digits of the housewives. Little wonder
Markets fold and bearishly go under,
Crunching under slow commuter trains,
Whining, like an orphan, on their wheels,
In the hour of work and morning meals.
This is how a normal person feels,
Tilts their nose to scents of eastern trouble.
A land of rock is bombed to dust and rubble
In the wake of army issue heels.
We lose the scent at night. Returning cars
Trail out beneath dissolving seams of stars.
©2001, Alexandra Oliver
Alexandra Oliver was born in Vancouver, Canada in 1970. Her work has appeared in a variety of journals in the US, Canada and England. A poet, performer and teacher, Oliver also writes for children and manages to keep a clean house.
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