All lines of the poem arrive, perfect in itself
except that it needs to be written. The gestalt
in a swift and complete vision. Start. Where.
So many words crowd the mouth. Also tongue-tied.
Vision – the Puritan town made worldly. Sun
shines on it. The clapboard café. Iced tea
chatter in Cantonese, Hindu, Persian, English.
Bespectacled kids climb the sofas. Benevolence.
Call the counterpressure “Usha.” Winds blow like
steam off the wand of a barista. Could be a binding
woosh of the sea, oceanic, self-annihilating.
She could be USHA, a department crushed by Musk.
Instead she is product of Ivy League, Second lady
Fourth hypocrite. Product of immigrants. Abuse
of language is world violation. How can she walk
the street with a soul of total devastation?