New Orleans
The Convention Center, September 2005
If you are fortunate enough
to die in a lawnchair,
be sure to hook your cheek
on one of the metal poles
that support the backrest. Then
as your face sags
in the heat, you’ll look good, you’ll
repeatedly attract
the camera. What do I care,
you might say, if you could. Well,
would you rather be
that white-sheeted
grub by the wall,
down on the concrete, hard to see
behind people people people
and garbage? Or that pitiful
thing under a blanket
(a blanket!) of some sort
inside, in darkness?
There must be competition, inequality;
otherwise there would be no incentive.
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