Lesson 3
Nautilus island’s hermitheiress sold her paintings at
the nearest farmer’s market
for a pittance, which I bought
in an instant, only to realize
I shouldn’t have. Apparently
it was a show, to show the neighbors
this millionaire is one of you. This
millionaire is one who would
stoop as low as us commoners
and give back to the community.
That’s what the big men said to me.
The big men who broke my bones
and stole the paintings out the trunk
of my car, then tossed it down the
Blue Hill’s skull while all the youths
in love cars watched as “Love, O Careless Love….”
was bleating on their car radios.
And now, as I walk down the hill
with arm in a makeshift sling some poor
girl, pausing her necking, made
for me, I see a skunk with a litter of
babies behind her make their way
through garbage pails unwilling to be scared
at the sight of some slouching man,
with cigarette in hand, and his thumb
on the record button listening to
the biggest case the local city’s news
will air tomorrow. You can have
your paintings, bitch, because soon
you yourself will be hell.
Poetry by Sameen
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Written on 2024-07-23 at 08:55
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