Here is a poem I wrote a number of months ago that I recently read over again and realized that there is actually quite relevant to what recently happened in VA. Enjoy.



There was, in the end,
the ground to consider
and its infinity of tenses,
Tennessee's menses,
the missus, the drops

she spilt
silt, by any other name split
from the head, right to the slit

like a clove of garlic
an egg for scrambling
a loaf of pretty-well bred

for the story of her arrival:
(wild hoarses)

for the story of her arrival:

they never saw it coming

for the story offer a rifle

and see if it stands up.

but:
they never
never see it coming.