1.
One could say, such things
just happen; or
one could say
that the way
the boy crumpled
leaking onto the floor of
the stairwell was irrelevant,
or that
the cop’s statement
that he thought he saw
a gun was relevant.
If one could find the CD
the boy was said
to be holding when he was shot,
one could see if the subject matter
of said CD
included guns,
or shooting,
and thus was relevant.
If one could be objective about
shit like this,
one could make up
a simple song
to commemorate the event.
It would have
a short verse and
the chorus would be over
in a heartbeat:
He was alive and
Then he was gone;
Such a smart kid who
Did nothing wrong.
That wasn’t enough.
So he fell down the stairs
With a bullet inside him
While everyone stared.
A gun or a wallet,
A smile or a knife.
What could he have used
To hold on to life?
If one could just get the facts elegantly straight,
if one could just learn
to sing
correctly,
this would be a different world.
2.
Do you recall
Maggie Apple lying in the street
with her eggshell nails
and her skinny legs with
the calves that looked
as if they’d been attached to her bones
as an afterthought;
or old Ronald Wrong
whose house smelled of wine but
looked like a glove full of bees, so when they
banged down the door and a host of trouble flew out
of its ramshackle fingers they
shot him as if he were
a queen, a danger queen;
or any one of those salty throated
boys and girls
who put their breath
in just the wrong place at the wrong
time so that magic stopped working,
and they died ahead of the rest of the pack?
The same lights flashing, the same crowd
gathered, tonight feels the same:
the names must be changed to protect
the names alone, because
the innocent are never saved.
3.
I want these days
to be over. I want sleep
to come back,
the shocked faces to stop staring,
and all the color to drain up from the roof
into the sky again, where it belongs.
4.
If he had known what was going to happen,
he would never have gone up to the roof
at all. It was just a quick way to the next building.
It was never meant to be a destination.
5.
The single worst part of all of this
is that anyone could have told you
this was going to happen.
Dark Matter 
January 31st, 2004 at 4:40 am
Re: that’s why!!
The previous surreal comment was caused by my having commented once that I didn’t see what you meant, then realizing it.
I know you and I differ about this; I guess my contention is that poetry itself is a form of human activity, and as valid a subject (or perhaps, a field of inquiry into human acts) for poetry as any other.
Shit, aren’t some of the best rock songs about rock and roll?
January 31st, 2004 at 4:38 am
Re: that’s why!!
ahhhhhhhhhhh, yeeeeesssss!
this i love too, btw:
If one could just get the facts elegantly straight,
if one could just learn
to sing
correctly,
that gets stuck in my teeth.
January 31st, 2004 at 4:30 am
Re: that’s why!!
Whoops! I missed it. Now I see what you’re getting at.
Easy enough to fix…see?
January 31st, 2004 at 4:26 am
that’s why!!
it does! i’ve had Springsteen in the head all day b/c of it, too.
the opening is a sucker-inner. this:
the boy crumpled
leaking onto the floor of
the stairwell was irrelevant
is so goddamned perfect, you know…
i love the names too. & the bare lull just before it picks back up with Maggie Apple.
my only complaint, & we always differ on this, is that i think you could take out the reference to the po8. but that’s maybe just me – i just can’t wrap my head around reference to the author, brings me out of the poem & into the work.
it’s damned good, Tony Brown.
January 30th, 2004 at 10:38 pm
Re: Stanza 2
Thanks, Karrie.
This is based in part on the shooting this week of yet another unarmed black teenager by a white cop in Brooklyn. While I’ve got no personal tie to the case, it’s such a depressingly familiar story that I couldn’t help but be moved by it.
The pop song lyric is meant to echo but not duplicate Springsteen’s “American Skin (41 Shots)”, of course.
January 30th, 2004 at 10:26 pm
Re: Who am I?
Cool! Welcome aboard.
T
January 30th, 2004 at 10:25 pm
Stanza 2
Amazing imagery there. Wow. Especially powerful after the pop song lyric bit in the first stanza. You are definitely on to something here, Tony. As usual.
January 30th, 2004 at 10:16 pm
Who am I?
Well, I ask myself that question a lot. I’m 37, have two teenaged kids, currently live in New Orleans, and make admittedly haphazard attempts to write and do a variety of other creative things. I work as a paralegal because I am too lazy to take the bar exam. I have a second job as a personal assistant, helping a friend with his various businesses. I have a couple of English degrees and fantasize about going back to school. I’ve moved around a lot during my adult years, mainly on a circuit between Lawrence, Kansas; Anchorage, Alaska; and Portland, Oregon. I generally write short fiction, essays, and academic/legal stuff, and although I occasionally come up with a poem, it’s been a while. I thought you looked interesting, I like your political rants, your taste in music (Ramones doing Spiderman, yeah! I was so obsessed with that for a while), and I’m looking forward to seeing more of your poems. Thanks for adding me!