Lois Roma Deeley
Bougainvillaea And Tv - Poem by Lois Roma Deeley
I am a useless human being.
Tanks are rolling toward a city-
the name of which I remember only from my childhood-
old stories told on an old phonograph.
The Thief of Baghdad?
Ali Baba? And the Forty Thieves?
I have done nothing
but watch TV with the sound turned off.
Sip Temple of Heaven tea from a tall glass.
Press the heating pad against my back.
Pull the covers over my feet. Then I look away,
look out the window and wonder
how the rain brings the Bougainvillaea
into such sharp focus.
I have been doing this for two days now.
Remembering that basement on Long Island,
the smell of mold and rotting wood. That bare bulb
with a metal string I stood under, waiting,
like a prisoner of war for the inevitable
creak of the door opening. Now
on the screen, a dead child lies in the dirt.
Her head is turned to my left,
one arm is bent upward, the other points down-
her small body takes the shape of an iron cross.
Now a woman with a narrow chin, a rhinestone pin
in the lapel of her red blazer, moves her lips.
Now I know I will never understand a thing.
The world talks only to itself.
Rain to war. Child to dirt.
Bougainvillaea and TV.
Comments about Bougainvillaea And Tv by Lois Roma Deeley
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Lois Roma Deeley's Other Poems
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl