Recently I wanted to share a published poem of mine with a new acquaintance, Jerry, so I photocopied it and handed it to him. He suggested that I start a blog and put my old poems on it, as few or none of them are accessible online. I dislike the word “blog” and have long resisted starting one, but I do like sharing my poems and photos and such, so I’ve decided to thank Jerry and give it a try. Here’s a poem that was published in Phoebe: A Journal of Literary Arts (Vol. 24, No. 2) in 1995. It was a finalist for the Grege Grummer Award in Poetry.
Little Black Sambo Turned To Peanut Butter for Your Sins
Bipedal and in a hurry.
Not much changes.
listen I gotta tell you
you know it’s so all it takes
is critical mass what other kind is there
these days amIright so you can
bet it’s true when I say I’ve seen
ducks make pigs of themselves
and that’s not all waitwait don’t go
listen to this the alphabet song
you know ABCDEFG it’s the same goddamn melody
as twinkle twinkle little star and and
youwon’tbelievethis baa baa black sheep waitwait
there’s more you just havetohearthis
But what I
really can’t forgive
is heroes who die
leaving me stained with life
to administer last compliments.
Stay here, the rest of you.
Rest in the peace of a good argument finished.
Tie the ends of your braids with the strings from teabags,
get up and dance.