by Charles Harvey
Had the Mother lived through your ordeal
of orgiastic bloodlust of worshipping
unpantied women of seeing the last
quiver of heart, lung, and kidney—
as butcher’s do—would her sons
be different men now?
Would their hair be cut, would
Phd, MD, Esq. or just calm clarity
follow their surnames?
Would their speech be as superb as yours
you white suited devil?
Who did you call to bring you that garment?
Who loves you enough to go through the trouble?
If angels do, what fools they are.
You stand before God all white as God
and those poor boys still boys twenty five years later
mouth full of mush crying, mama! mama! mama!
come down from that cross!
Charles Harvey is a writer living in Houston Texas.