The New Mao

Today, Mao was driving a car,
an American or maybe even Japanese,
but he wasn't who he was
he wasn't anybody
special or terrible.
He lived here. In the nice,
if old, apartments with garages.
He wasn't any more
harmful than other old men
who are only going to die
or who pull a car out of the garage.
He was no longer
special.
And those students.  Those
young ones. They never heard
of him.
They never asked him for their lives
and the freedom it takes to live.
They never knew him.
But they didn't know
what's worth living until the last minute for
either.
Maybe that's not important when
they've got plenty to live long for.
But in that old past,
they lived so well, if shortly.

Aug 10, 2010