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| Abdullah the Butcher |
The politician wasn’t struck in the assassination attempt
and only his ear was grazed, but the trickle of his blood caused
half the country to cry, Hero!
and the other half to yell, Staged!
though no one can deny
octogenarians are more brittle bones
than bulletproof, and
all’s fair in love and reward.
There are those who claim we never landed on the Moon
and those who maintain the Earth is flat,
yet that doesn’t change the fact that
Abdullah the Butcher
secretly sliced his forehead with a razorblade during matches
in the days when wrestling was supposed to be
considered real,
and his blood poured down onto his opponents
like a christening for non-believers in the crowd
at a baptism rooted in amusement
and self-mutilation.
My dad didn’t initially recognize me as I visited
him and my mom this weekend
and blamed it on his cataracts.
And while that may be the cause,
I clearly see what’s to come
for us all.
When a platform is based upon pretending
and failure to acknowledge that it’s not true sport
but entertainment,
who could blame the public’s skepticism
when a former president is clipped by a sniper
and seconds later raises his fist to Heaven
as if not giving praise, but
milking the most out of
life’s misses?
I’m sure the candidate will still be able to hear
from his right ear
but never listen.
I’m sure my dad will continue to deny
the natural by-products of his age
because lies build like
scar tissue piled up upon skin,
like fresh dirt piled upon
graves.
Daniel Romo is half curve ball, half prose poem, half bodega. Proof at danieljromo.com.