Another nine eleven comes and slips through afternoon;
not a single house on my block flies a flag or sings a tune.
There seems to be no notice or remembrance of the day
that two years back began the work to take our souls away.
Another nine eleven day and no lines have been drawn;
just like the game of chess, I guess, life moves slow for its pawns.
There isn’t any patriotic rhetoric on CNN or Fox,
no reminders of the war still on that risks the ballot box.
Another nine eleven here and our alert is high,
expecting that the enemy will be seen in our sky.
There isn’t an eye watching the manuevers on the ground,
where politicians scramble to the apathetic sound.
11 SEP 2003
