THIS AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT CAKE
(buttonwood manor, elizabeth, NJ, 1995)
Buttonwood Manor nutcase incense
the way the morsels carry weight the
way the Mayor walks along the boulevard,
carrying a swagger, parading through
open yards and streets. I should so staccato
be and talk like a machine gun. Me!
-
Instead, in the bare, dark green room where
once the Jays and Hamiltons fought, I am
sitting down amidst fat ladies and two black
girls with transparent shirts. Not very comfortable,
any of this, for me - let alone to think of the
ghosts of old Elizabethtown past. If they
every got a load of this, they'd die all over
again. The Hell with the Revolution.
This would be it.
-
There weren't no swank hills coming up
from the swampy rivers. The rafts couldn't
make it through the reeds. Right here, right
here, Washington and his boys stayed for
a while. Now, nothing. Oil tanks, grease
in the fronds, rainbow stains on soiled
waters. Rainbow stains on water.
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