To Inmate Number 227947 on the Week of the Autumnal Equinox
Was it you
Bomb the Iraqis by throwing rocks at
Grandmother's wind chimes?
get all dem bastards,
All of dem, bury dem in da sand…"
Crash to the floor, a remainder of
Head with beak beckons to dismembered
Webbed foot and winged torso.
limited to fragments such as these,
Dangled by strings and left up for the wind to beat upon.)
all up to the earth,
Hindu god Ganesha
Let it disintegrate as if a slug in salt.
all in a can of Bud,
You all American alcoholic,
The secrets locked up in your shed
Are buried in your box of porn.
really fixed yourself this time, didn't you?
When you smashed your van into that curb.
And for your birthday, I will send your card
Addressed to inmate #227947, above your name.
Folded inside, a note enclosed, "To Father."