AirDrop Poetry On a Fruit Phone

Some Poetry Is Temporary

Writing on a phone can be difficult. Sending a message can be dangerous. Doors were welded shut in Urumqi for the lockdown against the virus. People inside died in a fire because no one could get to them in time. People protesting were trying to communicate using a feature of their phones(Air Drop) to avoid a police crack down, arrest, and worse. The phones were sabotaged at the behest of the CCP by an update just before demonstrations. The fruit phones are made in China, but “too many Cooks spoil the pie (soup, broth).” The photos and news haven’t been disseminated much. “People hold white sheets of paper during a protest over COVID-19 restrictions after a vigil for the victims of a fire in Urumqi, in Beijing, China, Nov. 28, 2022.”– Reuters caption

Thin Air Drop on Granny Smith

    by Miss Zhang Xiuying

Join my girls dancing in the street.
Check your Granny Smith:
it’s a welding holiday.

Read on the Granny Smith.
The last fruit of freedom
is falling from the sky now
and the air is updated.

Read my last condolence
on Granny Smith

The police will come soon.
But I have my Juliet potion

I love you Romeo.
I will be dead soon.

Everyone died in the fire.
The fruit has been updated.
Beloved Sour Granny,
Shǐmìsī Nǎinai, is dead.

Have some pears.
Don’t despair, Romeo —
call the apothecary
on a wǒ-phone
before the police come
to the Shakespeare festival.

December Poetry in the Snow Latitudes

December Poetry

December is a speculation;
it looms over
the fabric of destiny

December is the
death of a year.

Death in the winter is cool.
’tis the dead leaves who fertilize the soil
but it is the trees who cry
when vandals collect leaves and leave

Death in the winter is cool.
Of December more.

Jazz in winter is cool too, yeah
December improvises with snow gone fluffy
where syncopated fluffy dogs scamper in snow tones
of blues in raggy times where snow jobs make poor
December the con game, optimism as a debt
Better to be in Australia.

War Games Are Fun

Let Us Play

I love how you said
let us play for the children,
and I liked to play too
so I didn’t have to shake
when the bombs fell above
and when I had a vision
of the scattering of
my wife’s limbs, and of
her head ripped off
for the glory of the enemy
so pompous and indignant
at the UN.

I love the silliness of you.

Give us this last day to play,
because with you
I will die happy
when we starve, and
freeze to death
playing a game
until we all
go see my family in heaven —
and I think my wife will like you.