We were all in love
We all fell down
The white houses had black fences
Civil engineers and their reforms

Where are they, we wondered
As these Ones pass by
Where do they come from
Some secret village?
Surely not this city of demise

He stands outside, stating his case
No one hears him but I see
Him for his beauty, a painting,
A film; a silent film
Fleeting, because that’s what beauty is
I don’t know anything about him
And if I did, it’d disgrace us both

So we keep walking, into Avril 50
Where they sell foreign goods
Such as bonbons des framboises
And cloves
And we smoke them
Because oxygen simply isn’t potent enough

We talk and we talk
About cultural adaptation:
Who says humans are not adaptive?
I say we are
“We will be the first species on earth
to become extinct”, they argue against me
so be it; all things become extinct,
as if this weren’t obvious
it’s how quickly we evolve

I throw down the butt and grasp my chest,
Something worse than fiberglass-
I feel my lungs: charred
Cloves will be the cause of our extinction, I’m sure

Next Thursday we will plan our escape
Where to? We’re not sure
But people here are rotting
And the more we talk about the history of technology
The more worried I become
Because this has nothing to do with falling in love
Or how to get up when you fall down,
In, or out

We’re afraid to go though, next Thursday,
Because we’re so used to being boring, shallow, wasted
What if they have conversations where we’re going?
What if they talk about tomorrow?
What if they speak of things that are substantial?

It won’t be like it is here
Because here, the meters break
After you put your quarters in
Here, the beautiful people hide
The smog, the illusions, and excess
Chase them, their tattoos, their piercings, their long hair, away

So we want to escape to their sanctuary
It might not be safe their either
But it should be different
Perhaps they paint their houses blue
And have red fences
What will we say?
We won’t; we’ll just breathe in
And remember to breathe out.


About Margaret Wang

In this crazy World, if we have something to say we should say it; whether in word, song, dance or paint. As writers, we write what we must, what we see, what we feel and what others experience but cannot articulate or understand. This is the duty and power of the writer; to release into the world our visions and our passions as if bleeding dry. Here at Stuck Pig I give you my word and hope that my voice reaches like minds so they know they are not alone, and unlike minds so they may share my glasses for a day. This is life lived as me, digested by me and translated for anyone caring to step out of their shoes for a few paragraph’s length. I am vulnerable and opinionated. You may judge me justly or unjustly, as I judge the rest of the world. I invite you to view Life through my window. View all posts by Margaret Wang

2 responses to “BREATHE

  • Tiffany Regan

    LOVE this…the whole poem breaths with you! Do these things just come to you naturally? Like take only minutes to write? You should write an entire Shel Silverstein book of short poems like this for adults…Ill illustrate.

  • IING

    hahah, thank you! and yes, I do very much hope to publish an anthology of my poetry one day. . .let’s hope the publishing world is as enthusiastic =)

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