Godzilla, it is me. The President of the United States
of America. I am speaking to you now from a bunker.
Yes, you have eaten New York. That was a given
the day you rose out of its harbor. You ate Rutger Street
and Bogardus Place. Lincoln Square and our best Broadway
shows. You swallowed all of lower Manhattan and then you
moved down the coastline. New Jersey. Rhode Island.
Virginia. Gulping all. Leaving radioactive footprints
the size of football stadiums whenever you left.
I did my best to delay you, King Monster. I sent new tanks
and helicopters. I sent grown men to swat at your chest.
But you brushed them of and ate our eastern seaboard.
Our skyscrapers going down your green throat. There is nothing
left of California. Nothing left of the once great Midwest.
You have left each prairie full of your poison. But listen,
Godzilla. I am not here to stop you. I am alone in my bunker
and thinking of you. Your tremendous body, alone
and hungry, rolling around the world that we dropped fifty
nuclear warheads on, and still you kept on drinking
our lakes while they burned. I do not know what you
want but I know the sound that you make when
you want it. Like a freighter is having a baby.
Like a moon is giving birth to a moon. I am not
here to stop you. No, Godzilla. I am speaking to you
now from our emergency broadcasting system, hoping
that maybe you can hear me, to say that there is no one
alive in this bunker. No one alive on the surface.
It is me, your president. And I am telling you that I will
wait here, underneath the burned lentils of my
incredible country, eating nothing but canned chickpeas
for years, and thinking of the wasted and leveled Mount Rushmore.
I will stay here, Godzilla, in my tattered blue suit until either
you go back to the ocean you came from.
Or—after nine months of walking across Iowa—you stop
in a rye grass or flax field to give birth to a beautiful baby
green boy. Because I want to be there, Godzilla, when you
look down and see a monster as powerful as you.
I want your baby to look down and see me.
I want to be the first thing it eats.
From: https://sinkingcity.as.miami.edu/two-poems-by-david-freeman/
Date: 2020
By: David Edmond Freeman (19??- )
From Troubles of The World 
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