Observations Off The Top Of His Head

The view from the top is majestic,
the poverty polite,
the sun a little older than in olden times.

Artemio swallows,
takes a deep breath,
starts down at an obscene angle.

What were these brown bastards thinking,
couldn’t they be satisfied
with climbing volcanoes?

What kind of knuckleheads
would amputate the heart,
hold it up high for praise?

Not that it would save their asses---
though millions of them have survived.
“I repeat, not that it would save their asses.”