Here comes the Bone Man wearing thunder like a serape.
Flash-bang lightning fills the hollow sockets of his eyes.
He sucks on his cigarette and blows clouds of pepper gas.
Screams sonic mayhem. Spits a hail of rubber bullets.
His hand on your shoulder. His knee on your neck.
Your concrete-bruised ribs strain for a breath of dirty air.
In spite of it all they’re marching across the bridge now.
They’re kneeling in traffic with their hands raised.
They won’t go home when told.
Books Available
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
Saturday, June 06, 2020
Who’s Afraid of the Bone Man?
Labels:
free verse,
plague journal,
poetry
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment