Three Poems
Chiquita
“The lawsuit claims that Chiquita paid Columbian death
squads to torture and murder many labor activists.”
The Progressive
Peel this banana and get a surprise.
You’re looking down the barrel of a gun.
Or else a knifepoint’s glinting near your eyes.
Bananas for your health? When you see one, run.
This fruit is rotten long before it’s picked.
With your potassium come needles hot
under your fingernails. Though hunger-wracked,
don’t reach for a banana, ripe or not.
This fruit bears fruit you never want to eat;
inspect what’s sliced into your breakfast-food.
The yellow’s festive, bright, its promise great,
but, inside, each banana runs with blood.
Shadows spread far from the banana-tree.
May all your children grow up banana-free.
At the Hiroshima Photo Exhibit
“Note warping of steel stairs by intense heat
from burned book stacks.”
on a photo of the Asano Library,
International Center of Photography Museum, New York
I turned the page and fell into the sun.
I did not know a book could give such light.
White page, black ink: the two became as one.
The burning book my burning hands held tight
held secrets it released as from a gun,
lifting my carrel to so great a height
I turned a page and fell into the sun.
I did not know a book could give such light.
The room reshaped itself around me, night
disguised itself as day, and words, undone,
turned ash. Gone blind by ecstasy of sight,
my eyes read fire. When spines began to run,
I turned the page and fell into the sun.
Coup: A Rondel
“Officers staged a confused coup that involved
tanks stopping for traffic lights as they made
their way through Santiago.”
Overthrow, Stephen Kinzer
We fight our wars according to the rules.
When we make war, it’s peaceful war.
A red light’s our commanding officer.
We know the Keystone Cops and think them cool.
We watch for children crossing after school.
We even stop for yellow, to make sure.
We fight our wars according to the rules.
When we make war, it’s peaceful war.
Safe and smooth traffic’s our warrior’s goal:
old ladies enter crosswalks without fear
as our tanks roll up. Years ago, we’d color
inside the lines; now, good little boys still,
we fight our wars according to the rules.
—Philip Dacey, Minneapolis, MN
