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Dead Field in Memphis
Waving the evil thing before our eyes
This here’s devils work, he cries
Ma threwn it into the pyre
We was outside the skullteachers hutch.
The Bagavad Gita, the Tao te ching
The Talmud, the analects of Confucious.
Ma was on some form this time
Only the good book’s for learning and truth, she screams
She took a whole bunch of ‘em
The look in his eyes. Still raises a chuckly.
Shakespeare is gone. Joyce is gone. Beckett gone
Hemingway. Proust. Vonnegut. Gaimen.
This spreader of black sin is worst of ‘em all
Your younguns will hearken to him and be lost
Then she give him to me
And me just past twelve cycles.
Not a word remains unscorched
All twisting black smoke, and into oblivion.
It pleased me, the broken look in his lights
I took his head in but four quick cuts
And Ma raised it high to testify
Then let it drop like one of them books.
Our Poem of the Week submissions are currently closed – a new call for submissions will open shortly. We are accepting submissions for our other regular features: MONOGRAPH (a group of poems by a single author) and New Voices (poets aged 18-30 who have yet to publish a full collection).