Upon discovering the Internet is a privilege, not a right.
One pound admission for fifteen minutes—
So this is how the rest of the world surfs the Web.
Let’s take this bus and see where it leads us,
Then take on the challenge of finding our way back.
On the upper hand of a double-decker
As vehicles come within a hair’s breathe
Of head-on collisions.
Below me I see stick shifts with right-hand steering wheels
And not a jay-walker in sight,
But the habit of driving under the influence
Of a cell phone at one’s ear
Is tragically universal.
Like a museum, only with pigeons—
Land given by the Knights Templar
In the name of
Where the parish buried its dead
In tombs made of stone.
The walled garden is
Where children swing and slide and play
Keeps Holocaust victims in our memories.
Interesting how, in
A garden commemorates victims in
But three-hundred forty villagers of
Killed in a Nazi raid
Should know compassion beyond borders.
As I walk down Churchwell Path—
Named for a medicinal spring that emerged on this land—
Cat Stevens sings in my mind.
“Well, I think it’s fine, building jumbo planes
Or taking a ride on a cosmic plane—
Switch on summer from a slot machine,
Get what you want to if you want,
’Cause you can get anything.
I know we’ve come a long way,
We’re changing day to day,
But tell me, where do the children play?”
No qualms about losing our way
And drifting like vagabonds
From foot to bus to cab,
Heading upriver without a paddle,
Hand-in-hand with a significant other,
And our wonder is childlike
At undiscovered land—
The hotel welcomes us
And the food is warm,
“But tell me, where do the children play?”