Playing God

Dear sir.

You have your bright eyes and your
Unsupple heart and your
Brightly-lit dark street corners.
You have your iron bars and your windshields;
Your horses and your armed police.

You have your playground memories;
The kick you got from the slap and the punch
And the way you simply said the word and
His hair got pulled, their privelige yours.
The way you jumped the glass railings and
Took the vase of flowers from the teacher’s desk;
Stole her hidden love letters and
Left an apple and a chalk board in their place.

You have a kevlar-coated bullet in the back of your head, and your
Safety jacket half way to your ankles.
The fly of your jeans is trailing several days behind
And your voice got lost in the
Incredible static.

You might feel invincible now, facing time
With your short temper and your white teeth;
The weight of your conviction
Patrolling the beaches, the streets and the schoolyards…
But I get the strangest feeling that one day,
Despite your stamping feet and the potency of your white faith;
Life will revolt, inevitably,
And you will slip on the ice
Or get shot down
By the stars.