cracker jack prize…

a rather
routine
event
body
lies
properly modified
for
appreciation
by
family
friends
and
those who
had
prayed
for
this day
when
suddenly
the corpse
coughs
this
of course
was
quite
out of the ordinary
and
most
disturbing
to
all
there
was
a series
of
oh dear gods
offered
and
numerous
i didn’t mean what i said
those
plaster saint retractions
filling
the mortuary
chapel
of
forgiveness
but then
someone’s cat
unceremoniously
emerged
from
the coffin
hairball
propelled
at
an ungrateful
and
spiteful
relative
hmm
perhaps
the
dead
do
speak

 

the prize…

Photograph from Google

like most
these hills
served as farms
for centuries
now the crops
are fed
with human blood
and the hills
have become priceless
to be fought over
by foreign troops
and outsiders
but
the farmers know
just as before
a new prize
will be declared
the hills will stand abandoned
so the mines
will be cleared
new seeds cast
upon unmarked graves
and the hills
will return
the only prize
that sustains life

can you hear the child…

you were
so
concerned
with dancing
stars
who
will
win
how could they
endure
such a
rigorous schedule
but
while
you
sat there
i sat
here
a child
from darfur
my dried tears
are yesterday’s fears
not today’s
this arid place
holds my forgotten face
as if bound to a cross
my body aches
from the janjaweed’s
penetrations
this was no wedding night
with one
lover
it was satan’s army
i was
the victor’s prize
and so my tears
went unheard
your
god
my
god
did not intervene
nor did any
one
change
the channel
for fear
of missing
who
the
winner was
it
was
not
me