This comic universe of accidents
Leaves no room for meaning or tragedy
Because catastrophe means nothing but
A victim reduced to an object of
Best forget justice,
For it requires a world with boundaries
Not an ever-expanding universe of
Trouble—accidental or otherwise.
Police arrive on the scene of the crime
Not to prevent, but to document—
If the accident is special enough
Cameramen also come, like vultures
(In fact, the cameramen would be there
Sooner, if they could be; would create a
Horror in order to catch it virgin).
(Look at Haiti and tell me the pictures
Taken there benefit the victims. I
Fucking dare you.)
After the police, the hospital and
Doctors in the emergency ward:
You are gowned and X-rayed after long waiting
In a room full of other victims, hurt
By cars, guns, knives—or maybe a special
Accident grows, waiting to be revealed
(A pregnant tumor or appendicitis:
We have the knife that heals as it wounds).
Insurance agents you may never see
Or one may visit you in your home
And give forms to fill out in full;
They may put you under surveillance
To make sure the status of victimhood
Is not a fraud, as if anyone would
Want to wear the garments of a loser.
The labyrinth of insurance papers
Is as nothing compared to the papers
Lawyers require you to not only read
In full, but to sign until your signature
Is an unrecognizable scrawl, like
Your unwashed hair and face, sleep-deprived
Eyes look at you, tarnished in the mirror.
Finally, before life is never the same
A final round of medical professionals:
Chiropractors for your dishonest back,
Occupational Therapists for your
Poor work ethic (“Injured! You lazy shit!”),
And Physiotherapists who softly
Get you back into shape with exercise
That reminds one of the boredom of recess.
Yes. In the universe of the accident
Everyone benefits except the victim:
Chaos and injury are blessings, the
Maimed become the source of good things all.
The world of meaning has vanished, given
Way to endless laughter and mocking. It
Makes me laugh when a man or woman is
Smashed by the traffic of existence:
How all the police, the insurance
Companies and courts, lawyers with their
Briefcases, and judges and doctors—
All smile the coprophagic smile of profit.