Karl Schmidt-Rottluff, Trauernde am Strand (Mourning Women on the Beach), 1914

We marched so proud,
footsteps drumming
memes and themes
like banners, held aloft

But the page turned
script rewritten,
why should it be me,
give up you say,
my time for thee?

That’s not the tune I signed up for
No, I subscribed to
next day delivery
One-click satisfaction

And with new demands,
blood is stirred
fists raised
Torchlight calls to Shadow,
“It’s our time baby.”
and so they will dance again

Raise once more
all the undead memories,
for me and mine alone,
hoarding, profiteering, harsh the choices
and narrow the needle’s eye
fear, now the holy bond between brothers

Come on down, bully and monger
come on down to the river to pray
arise, fresh as spring lambs
with filed teeth and forked tongues
for now is your most holy hour.

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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