CRANE COLLAPSE
Ah, the beeyootiful sky! I got up early, ate
a bowl of cereal specifically targeted to
children, drank some coffee, read some
horrible news about the ongoing genocide
committed against the Palestinians by
Israel, and watched local news. ITEM:
CRANE COLLAPSE KILLS THREE.
Oh dear. Across Houston, across the
slight curve of the earth it spans, dozens,
no, HUNDREDS of cranes and one
collapsed. Poor Crane! Poor Lana Turner!
Workers making our city better, or, rather,
less affordable for the layman, like me,
like the workers. She’s a cute little ruin I say
to myself in the mirror. ITEM: I HAVE
BEEN GUILTY OF WORSHIPPING
THE TERROR OF THE SKY. Clouds
slung low across the horizon, creeping like
barges in the polluted river. Whammy bar
rusted to the guitar, forces you to bend
the chords, ruin the notes. I’m scared
it will tear the bridge out if I apply the
force necessary to remove it. The no-
torious crane did its collapsing and killing
in what we here in Houston call The
Medical Center, a place filled with hospitals
and health research centers. MD Anderson
FAMOUS EVEN for its cancer research,
though both of my friends who were
treated there for cancer died anyway.
Money back at the counter, trophies
and tombstones racking up the score. I’m
a cute little ruin, sitting here on my
couch. I paid my city to kill these workers.
I paid my country to kill those Palestinians.
MACHINE
Wearing capital's syntax like a blood-stained coat
The language seeping into art
Sales numbers, self-promotion, heat over a rusted knife
The best artist the one who loves everyone
The one who takes no side, waits for the ash to clear
They'll warn you of the spider after it's bitten you
Looking for love in all the deepest wounds
Of strangers
Glenn Shaheen is the author of four books. He is the President of the Radius of Arab American Writers and teaches at Prairie View A&M University.