Monday, April 10, 2017


PostTrump Pantoum - 1:20 AM
Max Roach is crawling my vertebrae
in time to the low gong
of a brass chime
outside in hurricane wind
In time to the low gong
palpable      impenetrable
inside like hurricane wind
... an impossible tap on the shoulder
Palpable implausible
No one else is awake
but the tap on the shoulder
   I spin & look away
I'm the only one up
after this disaster
I spin the dial anyway
but the news doesn't change
After a disastrous election
no one un-dies
and the news stays the same
Some wounds huddle in close
and no one un-dies
(a toll from a brass gong)
Huddled wounds will not heal
And still Max Roach crawls my spine
--Matthew Hupert

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