[lit-ideas] SUNDAY'S MONDAY POEM
- From: "Michael Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: "LIT-IDEAS" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Mon, 26 Apr 2004 13:12:36 -0500
That guy in the wheelchair
the one who's black as tire smoke
the one with no legs,
that one,
yes,
what's he want?
How come he keeps staring at me?
I didn't do it.
It's true that life is rife
with things to rue.
Grandpappy Sweet
would chop off the feet
of slaves who tried to run,
but that was just for fun,
to punish them,
he hung them from a limb.
But I didn't do that.
How come he keeps staring at me?
I'm as innocent as can be.
And all those Vietnamese
melted like cheese
in napalmy breeze
-- please,
I wasn't there,
why do you stare
at me?
Go away, I say.
I'm as innocent as a Sunday Morning
I'm giving you fair warning.
Get away from me.
I have a gun, you see.
--- Mike Geary
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