Friday, February 17, 2012

Ex Post Facto

Words reached so far back we were not yet born.

I don’t know what there was to talk about.
The hot dish always served is cruelty.

Men who kick shit out of women
are ball less, so they continue writhing.

How do you think they got here? The bully,
quintessential American coward.
Vietnam was his before there was war.
He shipped the young men there to be slaughtered.

I’m not your goddam glamour boy.
I can play the Chuck Berry repertoire,
and do. You can have your Elvis.
It’s women I love to hear: You know who.

If you need to know, go ask his drawn shade.
His last known address was Something Hades.

One bullet ends his future, the second
his life. Down here he can play air guitar.

Who finds time, back in the world, to listen?

(17 February 2012)

copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander

No comments:

Post a Comment