Another Day, My Friend

A Poem by Ryan Henderson

I.
Wielding steely teeth
With withered papers clutched in claws;
A homeless trail of smoke and tears
Pollute the air as you
Attack the source of all distress;
Raping and defiling
The innocence of our past.

II.
Nondisjunction, impaired vision,
Pivotement devant Paris--
The constitutents of my being.
For I am not the Pope
And even he, not so.
I thought you not of
Poor descent, but rather
More astute.

I was wrong, indeed.
Perhaps this was Stalingrad,
My El Alamein.

III.
See the cat? See the cradle?

Among the dying leaves
Of changing seasons
Lies a portion of a lonely soul.
Broken from a withered branch
Clinging to his steroid trunk
(Who, feigning strength, disguises
A termite-infested core).

No damn cat, and no damn cradle.
How alone it must feel
To be cast in such a manner;
The healers stringing phrases 'cross
A fragile, sawdust lie.

IV.
Hazy thoughts of lollipops
And metal playground swings,
Strewn about like good intentions
In a vacant field.
The rains come slowly, hesitant,
Then swiftly rage anew;

Dig a hole, hide inside,
Wait for all to pass on by.

You beat the ground and clench the dirt.
You stand
You bellow
You grunt.

And so resumes the hunt.