A.D. Winans: Pre Labor Day Poem

like pulling a wisdom tooth
like an attack of sciatica
I sit here lost
in the attic of my mind

 

the fog rolling in
slips through the crack
in my living room window

 

born at home premature
under the light of a full moon
I walked the jungles of Panama
Fed off Beat Mania in North Beach

 

Shaman poets sang in my ears
under a bed of stars
young women with dresses
that clung to firm thighs

 

damp dark cavern
wet as morning dew
peach fuzz dinner
drew me in devoured me
like quicksand

 

the sweet fragrance of the past
swirls inside my head
mates with comrades long dead
as I walk back into my birth
work my way through
the sound of water
the wind sharp as a knife
propels me toward my destiny

 

my boyhood gone
like an old jalopy used-up
rusting in an auto junkyard

I head toward the comfort of the now
nailed to the cross of the past
in the language of the present
with no words to light the fire
as I carry the memories
like a mountain climber
with a heavy backpack

 

vague memories of my mother
singing me to sleep
and the chill of waking
the tongue of dawn
cold as dry ice

 

the hawk sweeps down
for the kill
a dog howls at the moon
a cat yawns in boredom
the universe draws a new boundary line
fragile as a new born child

 

the careful academic poet
weds the careful language poet
vie for who is published the most
in Poetry Magazine

 

the monkey rides the master’s back
the coo-coo bird moves backward
into the clock

 

fearful police lock and load their guns
black boys moving targets
in the night

 

voter suppression laws
to keep the voting down
southern barbecues
with rednecks hungry
for “nigger” steak

 

gone the passion of revolution
sell out satisfaction
to the status quo

the night hound of death
stumbles into the day
the rich roasting the poor
like a pig on a spit

 

labor unions turned
into mannequins
the war machine money makers
fuel the cash register
with the blood of our youth
no guilt no shame

 

the Roman Senate proceeds unabated
turn out gladiators
like machinery parts

endless parades marching bands
waving flags, played out
like an amusement park

 

slavery without chains
government without representation
this nation of criminal politicians

 

the ghost of Custer rises
like a creature from the lagoon
creeps through the night
like a faceless Santa Claus
with a bag of Indian scalps

 

Allah competes with the Pope
for the rights to the head of Jesus
beheaded by Isis barbarians
back from a night of slaughter
as the congregation stumbles
like a drunk into the future
carved out in the hands
of a gypsy fortune teller
as I wait out the night hours
in solitude
shut out the demons of insomnia
like a faulty night light switch

 

the holy of the unholy money exchangers
make and pass new laws
laws that feed on the bones
of the poor and blue-collar worker

 

a future where animals
turn into animal crackers
and birds are served live
at holiday feasts

 

the angels occupy the cheap seats
at Yankee Stadiums
God sends down a bolt of lightning
dismayed at the flawed diamond
he created

 

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