My first words
pantomimed the violent language
of the ones who raised me up.
They raised me up from an incubator
into the arms of the insecure,
singing softly about forever
while white dishes smashed the floor
in bursts of Francis Scott Key
on a football weekends.
"God Damn You
God Damn You
God Damn You."
I don't even remember the year
but I remember the football season.
The Chiefs beat the Vikings in the Super Bowl.
1970.
My Dad and my uncles
started shouting about the over/under.
Little brown bottles were perched on every flat space.
I sat near the television, enjoying the tingling feeling
of static electricity coursing through my blanket.
"God Damn You
God Damn You
God Damn You."
No one heard or knew.
I was conducting an experiment.
I knew little about God
but I knew enough to know that I was stuck in his world
and there wasn't anything I could do about that.
So I used to spend a lot of time
with a blanket draped over my head
chanting "God Damn You
God Damn You
God Damn You."
I did this to see what would happen.
If I could force the issue.
My greatest fear is that the non response
of my unconsciousness is driving the show. As long as he plays my bloody taxes
3 comments:
Hello scaught. It's your intermittent online buddy from England here. Was trawling around ye olde Internet haunts and have read your last few posts. Your writing is excellent as ever - you really do deserve a bigger audience, there is just no justice in this goddam world.
Good one, SC5. I like the recent Last Rungery. More weight than a status update!
I'm with Jeeves. Good stuff.
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