look around you—
the litter in the stairwell—5 janitors have been laid off
(that graffiti in the parking structure—they were laid off)
likewise the light fixtures out in the corridors and various broken things—
plus the overcrowding: faculty have been reduced, staff laid off
—the buses too no longer run as frequently (bus drivers laid off)—
imagine being told to find a job to feed your family in this economy—
people were told to find their own transportation, if not—too bad—
crowds mill on the street corners sometimes waiting—
one kid i know was attacked by a gang of (he said) a dozen 12 to15 year olds
they sucker-punched him and when he turned to push them off
one pulled him down by grabbing away his backpack (it was a robbery)
and he struck his head against the curb and suffered a concussion—
these circumstances are generated by policies carried out by administrative
bureaucracies and boards, handed down piecemeal by supervisors and
bureaucrats who often hate to be the bearers of bad news, but they bear
any news they are given; a girl who worked for me was leaning back
napping, resting her head against the wall, when i joked, “wake up,
don’t be so lazy,” and she ran from the room weeping—
she was exhausted, working full time to support her unemployed parents—
her dad dying from congestive heart failure, did die in a month—
(when we parted, she gave me a box of chocolates and a hug
to show she had no hard feelings, only the kindest feelings of a sweet kid)
—those sending the memos and making the policies have already xeroxed
their condolences to everyone who suffers these actions and these
famous policies of budget cuts and downsizing, everyone who falls
under the fallout can count on a form letter of some kind with official sympathies—
(maybe not 168 children killed in drone strikes in pakistan—the others in yemen,
sudan, afghanistan, etc., maybe not them, they get no official notification,
no trial, just bombs)—look around you, that burnt out carcass of a car—
on a cracked and broken sidewalk, homeless people wearing blankets
leaning against the hospital fence—a cold cup of coffee under the weird cold blue
moonshine from the street lamp—
(look at that blue light up there, maybe it is you)

 

 

bunker hill

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