[net.bizarre] Poem

tag@ucbvax.ARPA (Todd Gross) (08/13/85)

	
	Invocation to the Cockroach God

O ancient immortal cockroach god
who swaggered untouched
from the white blaze of Hiroshima,
sneered and shrugged
at such higher depths of progress
and then bummed a jaunty cigarette,
defend your people.
At the back of back alleys
and the close of closing in rooms
we've spilled beer and blood to you
and there's never enough of either.
The tidy torture is upon us,
be with us now, you who are born
miraculously in penthouses and slums,
you from whom there's no escape.
We are as hated as you, make us as strong.
A cop should be no more to us
than the expensive man who sprays you
and scares off the people
for three days while you dance.
Teach us your dances so jails will fall down
and merchants will stop trying
to pull us from their stoops
like crabgrass growing in cement.
We invoke the cockroach god,
the immortal enemy of everyone
the untouchable that touches everyone,
the laughter scurrying among ruins
    like us.
    Like us.
			-- author unknown

waltt@tekecs.UUCP (Walt Tucker) (08/17/85)

> 
> 	
> 	Invocation to the Cockroach God
> 
> O ancient immortal cockroach god
> who swaggered untouched
> from the white blaze of Hiroshima,
> sneered and shrugged
> at such higher depths of progress
> and then bummed a jaunty cigarette,
> defend your people.
> At the back of back alleys
> and the close of closing in rooms
> we've spilled beer and blood to you
> and there's never enough of either.
> The tidy torture is upon us,
> be with us now, you who are born
> miraculously in penthouses and slums,
> you from whom there's no escape.
> We are as hated as you, make us as strong.
> A cop should be no more to us
> than the expensive man who sprays you
> and scares off the people
> for three days while you dance.
> Teach us your dances so jails will fall down
> and merchants will stop trying
> to pull us from their stoops
> like crabgrass growing in cement.
> We invoke the cockroach god,
> the immortal enemy of everyone
> the untouchable that touches everyone,
> the laughter scurrying among ruins
>     like us.
>     Like us.
> 			-- author unknown

I really don't know who this is, but the style seems to mimic Sylvia Plath
(post-wwII poet through late 40's and 50's until she gassed herself)

                         -- Walt Tucker