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Postmodern Village
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I'm starting to think, man, I can bust this dude
by Francine DuBois

fear is glistening in his eyes like mica
and i'm using all the best lines from
Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill! just for him.

"errors can be corrected," he says
in his weasel voice before backing away
from the car slowly, tail between bowed legs.

"not when they're deadly. the cast of E.R.
would tell you that, but you probably wouldn't listen."
he's running back to the doghouse that uncle sammy built

the summer of the drought, when everything was waiting
to catch on fire and burst into flickering orange and red.
i wish so badly i had paid attention when uncle sammy

taught us both how to handle the slingshot when he
hunted rabbits for stew. but i thought i was above that,
thought there'd always be a drive-thru to feed me.

i didn't know that uncle sammy had a deeper hunger
than lunch, but i know now. we share a thirst for violence,
for the spilling of scarlet red on alabaster fur.

 

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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