THEY WIDENED THE ROAD
Their trenchmouth fireplaces are raging
always, licking fingers of crazy flame;
In South Africa or wherever that was,
they'd put burning tires around people
necks, a resting fire on the shoulder
of a man. Imagine the horror, then.
I cannot do magic, nor play pick-up
sticks. All of my cards are marked,
and the naked ladies on the backs
of the cards, really now, that is all
you see. When Saturdays came, it
used to be, I went to town.
All that has stopped now : supplies
I have brought to me. Some little
money for a local kid, full of a
bombast and false pride, I tell
him 'This revolution sucks.'
He nods and winces, saying,
'We must endure whatever
it is, and it can only go up
from here.' Better things,
my friend, better things.