Poetry

Reuters photo

By

Alejandro Escudé

Turncoat Privilege

I’d never discuss it either.

Dad sitting there, miles away,

the roar of the old birth-phone

and that large dark suit looming

like the dying butterfly of time.

How would he have put it? I said

Russian models peeing on you,

a cascade of gold, cheap glitter,

and he replied, fine son, just fine.

And a deal with a bear, our fresh

blood dripping from his coat.

Turncoats, Dad. How’d that be?

He responding, fine, just fine, son.

So why not offer the equivalent

of a tomahawk missile in words?

Why not buy some lying time

with those New York millions?

As the Republicans sit, smirking,

fine son, just fine, son.  Lunch

already served. A bony blonde

waiting for serendipity to dry up,

sipping whiskey on a terrace

overlooking One World Center,

that go-fuck-yourself tower.

Alejandro Escudé

Alejandro Escudé’s first book of poems, My Earthbound Eye, was published in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.