Marc Vincenz

Rangoon

     for John Adolphus Pope

City at the end of strife 

far from the cry of borstal whippersnappers. 

Mother calls her ladies an outpost of the foreign legion 

& pours with abandon as if this may be her last cup yet. 

She offers slices of fruitcake & waves away the flies. 

Father sells opium to appease her majesty. 

Sarah & I play croquet on the lawn. 

A hundred years from now a junta will oppose 

everything we’ve made from scratch. 

I say Praise the Industrial Revolution 

but observe the gaping hole in our constitution. 

Monkeys can scream all they want 

at the burning pagoda, but the moon is still gone. 

What an embarrassment. 

You know, you can never please the natives

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