Poetry

Reuters photo

By

Jeremy Spears

Why You Gotta Hit So Hard?

that one’s daughter asked out loud

palm rubbing a bruise like a gathering cloud.

Call him brother, call him lover,

call him other or yet another.

Think of the alarm unraised, lost

as the Clown of Aleppo’s thoughts

when missiles struck.  Dumb.  Out of luck.

Balloon animals for cherubs.  Goose or Duck.

In the savage pantomime, these children are chalked

in blue turned gray, by poison’s skit stalked,

were born betrayed yesterday in corridors or caves,

then, now, today, and beyond their sweltering graves.

This helicopter, a barrel in its belly, chops water –

rhymes with hereafter, chimes with slaughter.

In real time, Sun floods a thousand yards.

In this time, The deck holds a thousand cards.

Whatever did you mean when you said forever?

What stories were you telling each other

when you let the afternoon hinge on a pin then lie?

Club-hearted, spade-footed, even your magicians die.

#BriskClip

is how we might remember our lives

headed to Hell and the world behind

and beyond us.  Skullduggery’s heart

welcome to this, our damn 4am hashtag

ten cocktails in, Tina T. spinning and our

every memory laughing.  Did you dream

that we could discount your each paltry

affront?  #cunt, #rentboy, #choosymiracle

Winged whispers don’t arrive batted about

by #cocklickers who just can’t understand

why gathering clouds climb a milky stout.

Those 6M kids were mine.  They chanted

Vote Them Out.  Maybe you missed, listed

or got it twisted, your soul was abandoned

a thousand or more years ago.  This future

was never yours to hold.  That past was you

already begging to be price-tagged, bargain-

basemented at half the price #eagertolose.

Jeremy Spears

My poems have appeared in Five2one, The MockingHeart Review, The Furious Gazelle, the Green Mountains Review and Wordgathering, among others. I am a recipient of the David Lindahl Prize from the JWR.