Linh Dinh is the author of two collections of stories, Fake House (Seven Stories Press 2000) and Blood and Soap (Seven Stories Press 2004), and three books of poems, All Around What Empties Out (Tinfish 2003), American Tatts (Chax 2005) and Borderless Bodies (Factory School 2005). His work has been anthologized in Best American Poetry 2000, Best American Poetry 2004 and Great American Prose Poems from Poe to the Present, among other places. He’s living in Norwich, England, as a David T.K. Wong fellow at the University of East Anglia.
If it feels and looks like racing,
And crashes, hallelujah, like racing,
Then it’s World War III all right.
Hapless, uninspired civvies of all ages
Ducking behind dumpsters. To rake them
Is less than lame, even with the massive
Ordnance up your dead mama’s ass.
When this endless ride’s finally history,
You can return and camp fire inside her
Ample back hatch, and stare back down
The 12-lane highway of your combustion.
Gazebos on astro lawns, incinerated firs.
These explosions are so surprisingly realistic,
When I saw my local burning, I almost cried.
Shimmering on the horizon, the four horsemen
Will arrive soon. Put all your liquid assets into
Baked beans, canned tuna and bandages.
After the almighty Dollar evaporates, the King’s
English will shrivel. Therefore, toss your English
Dictionaries away, burn all of your English books.
© Linh Dinh 2006.
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