Wednesday, April 25, 2018


Mona in Amerika #1

in the shimmering emerald rain
of the inhuman dawn
the man in the yellow hat
hunchbacked- weasel featured
almond eyes crossed toward a mauled cashew nose
flits and limps around- fleabag motel
HOME- 35 dollars a night
scraps of chicken wings, beef shreds, ham bone
bundled in newspaper and twine
friends with the butcher’s assistant
they play checkers and drink
belt out dead love songs on a busted six-string
labor ravaged, soul maddened, tragic comic dynamos
too old to live too young to die
slow mutants of inevitability
rooms 206 and 209
where the unwanted go to die
a tinge of disappointment
whenever day breaks or night descends
eggplant child on tricycle
pisses near the swimming pool
indeterminate sex- locked out from the room
of determined sex and food stamp paydays
Mona turned to me asked “…is this Amerika?”

--Mike Zone

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