Children, we built you
A bold red dot that is a heart attack
Hiding in the iris-embroidered tablecloth
A thread waiting to inflame
The weeping atlas says You Are Here,
Fastened to the walled-off square,
The dirt and cement
Where we delivered you
Though you've never been high enough
Above the shadows of the soles
Of your shoes to know if this is true,
Your precise position in longitude and latitude
Children, you are here. Do not to move.
You'll catch the tripwires
That bind your ankles,
The way we delivered you.
Brian Le Lay is a poet based out of New York City. His first book of poems, Don't Bury Me in New Jersey, is available from Electric Windmill Books. His work has recently appeared in The Rusty Nail, Hobo Pancakes, and Drunk Monkeys. He blogs at http://www.conceiveyourself.
