We Own Our Thanks Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

I
try
a laugh.
For me, to
laugh is fun.
But, can I have
fun, in this place?
A very good question.
I, love the land; purified!
The Poet for feeling the pains
of all nations. People, are lifted
to the skies, and turned inside out.
Far, far, outside the atmosphere of this
Earth. Some image is this. Lots of bloody
flesh spattered on the outer reaches of
what once was. Orchestra, conductor
The Big Snake. Can I laugh? How so?
How can this Monster; eat you?
So many ways to eat so much
bloody meat… no worries… I
have loads of friends in
the lowest of places…
"Life is indeed short"
For a short time
to you know
whom; we
owe our
thanks