by John Newmark
Mickey sits amidst the rubble,
And my mind wanders to Gavroche,
Singing as he gathers bullets.
Hugo describes him as mystical.
Mickey is mystical, too.
There's not a speck of dust on him.
Fresh from a store,
Or playroom
Of a photographer's child..
Hugo tells the story
Of a failed revolution
Through his invented characters.
He kills Gavroche,
For he knows it will elicit a response.
But he is writing a novel.
The propaganda is passed off as real.
The real pictures would be horrible enough,
But the photographers can't resist
Adding toys, stuffed animals,
And mannequins to the mix.
The hardened reader
When he sees Gavroche die,
Doesn't cry,
Because he refuses to be manipulated.
By staging these pictures,
The photographers
Are unintentionally
Providing an excuse
To ignore the reality.
John Newmark lives in St. Louis, Missouri, and has performed at open mics for thirteen years. His poetry and fiction have also appeared at Newspoetry, EOTU, The Landing, Bewilidering Stories, MillenniumShift, and Scared Naked Magazine. More information can be found on his website.
