Thirty-five hundred years from now
When no one writes in stone
And COVID 19 is just one of many plagues
Vaccination cards nailed above doors
Of immigrant internment camps
Who will edit facts that do not fit
Purge first-hand accounts to make it holy
Provide the name of a trust fund princess
Who didn’t want another selfie with a shelter dog
And opted to rescue a child set adrift at the border
Will editors have her adopt him as her own
Clothe and feed him as a son
But because he kills an abusive cop
Exile him for decades in a Castaneda novel
Before he finds his burning bush
Will they have a 21st century God side with
Pharaonic landlords or part waters of a rising sea
And still sentence his followers to 40 years in the desert
Seeking a bowl of rice with milk and honey
and squatter’s rights to a promised land
4-25-21
My husband's poetry 
Leave a comment