Janelle Poe, “Matte-Painting” / Poem

Note: This “Matte Painting” poem, “We / Enter Seeds,” is a multimedia work artfully composed of roasted broccoli on orange “matte” (foil-backed parchment paper on woven cotton). And words, of course.—Janelle Poe

Nickels and Dimes

 what have I made in a month? not much money 

not much at all civil servant earning so little

essential worker  yet raises frozen

clean over tundra lake buried beneath

a cold war wages meaning less

when one works thrice as hard quadruple times

each hour that counts increasing social distance

to speak out is to court further disaster risk

greater exposure alienation isolation

turned away from protective equipment treatments 

leading to salvation no vaccines necessary 

when genetics controls this all 

clearly this is our fate

keep your mask on tight everyone

breathe lightly when you venture outside

this thing on my neck 

choker squeezing every last drop 

of oxygen blood  good energy  love  tears

(aliens have already arrived)

COVID-19 song of survival 

lament in the ton(gu)e of death

ignore the blood and tubes

bodies nailed to posts

martyrs and witches

News flash

still wearing masks in public   check

still targeting blacks    check

aiming for violence

still privileging white capital     check

still maintaining all previous institutions values 

hierarchies coda  creed of greed in tact         check

stimulus package still gift wrapped for corporate 

benefits           check

            this is not sustainable

            not redistribution         reparations

just a blip in the visuals camera recording     check

this is historic momentous yet we rush back blindly

                        “hurry up heal or die”

                        (none of this works if we don’t)

skeptics say scientists agree politicians delay vacate

justice is a dish made for takeout from your local

spot that closed for months and months

 cut to storefront grilled or boarded up poster close up

witty pandemic phrase flowers for the dead drive thru

funerals terpsichore grief pan out isolate petals

candles  block scenes  parks through more grills

locked gates empty streets shift lighting suggest

spring cyclists strollers and toddlers families

couples wearing masks holding hands holding

each other holding on close up eyes up up up

city scape skyline clouds blinding white light

fade to black

titles

                        check

the show must go on must go on must go on

must we must go on show must go must go

on just a blip scratch in the record we march

back in place move to the beat of market waltz

empires of servants at your highness’ door