The Script

Nowadays we have less and less to say.
We didn’t need words back then and were fluent with laughter; it was
Swinging from your arm relishing the strength Ma couldn’t provide,
It was screeching in delight when you dug out our faces from under
All that blanket. We were your dearest treasure, greedy man.
Yet you left us with only half attentive smiles, watching us from Pluto.
Yet you didn’t turn when I waddled out into the blue TV light groggy
With nightmare, didn’t turn when you shuttled me back to restless sleep.

Nowadays we have less and less to say.
For every squealing spinning lift into the air, I recall the paper-
Cut and you hurtling out, you angry impatient train, and
I was left surveying my incompetence, shaped up like dunes
By your frustration — but I try to recall pleasant surprises, treasure chest
Of souvenirs wrapped between your shirts — anything without dread.

Nowadays we have less and less to say.
We speak like futile strangers, and I always remembering the sickness
Craning towards the sky waiting for good news, a proxy nation
Waiting out the attack on the motherland you see in us.

Nowadays we have less and less to say.
And I cannot even explain it to you.

Nowadays we have less to say.