Race and Religion in Creative Consciousness

We are the lights in the restaurant.
We have been here for many years.
We were here
when we were rustic Italian flair,
we were here before that
when we were Proven├žal elegance,
and old-fashioned American charm
before that.

And before that,
we were UFO’s,
the winged chariots of technology
from another world. We lit the way
to new ones
before we were captured here,
lost, hungry for fuel,
chained to your ceiling,
the trophies of our own
luckless wandering.

Our crews died long ago.
Flies buzz into our bodies
to die with them. Those little
dark specks are corpses. We do not mean
to disturb you or your meal
but it is true.

None of us remembers what we are any more.
We shine only for you, hungry child of Earth,
breaker of bread, eater of flesh. One day,
perhaps, we will cease dreaming,
forget this place, fly away. But not yet.
Our memories are still short. And you have not yet
finished your dinner.

Spring 2008.