Tuesday, March 7, 2017


They should have hated him
or maybe they did and I didn't notice,
too busy traipsing through fields of goldenrod
and ragweed, skipping through waiting rooms
wallpapered with daisies, through supermarkets
glazed with rainbow entrails.
They should have hated him,
it should have been long since over
by the time I finally mounted the beast
that would carry me through the wrought-iron forests
and red brick trees, galloping between the factories
with gray flakes clinging to its mane and lashes.
I didn't see the bloodshot eye-roll it gave me,
thought its whinny was one of exhilaration
rather than fear.
They should have hated him,
should have strung him up then cut him down
and doused his carcass in piss before
dragging it through the streets
before I arrived at the gates, my poor steed
frothing and heaving, clattering into a heap of hooves
as I stepped lightly off to stand at the edge of the crowd
that clung to every word, stretching their mouths wide
to catch every morsel he flung at them.
They should have hated him
but instead they gobbled it all up, swallowed it all down,
and having safely arrived, ruddy and fat
and wrapped in the bright ribbons of my travels,
I swallowed it too.

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