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UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
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JASON KELLY RICHARDS
Crows, coyotes, and the ultimate buzzard His father said SON Sometimes you need people Other times a stiff drink will suffice Both can lead to the bottom So beware of the shadow in the sky And the howl from the hill His mother said BOY You build your bridges too long They'll collapse before you cross them Be afraid to face the truth No one uses it you rule with words Bend and stretch and weave them ROUND AND ROUND AND ROUND His wife said YOU and YOUR fucked up dreams Can't make them come true And can't let go of 'em. You're all talk, no action, Talk.Talk.Talk." He said, ACTION I'll show you ACTION as he grabbed his Louisville Slugger and chased her around the room. The judge said SIR Your wife will get the house The car the checkbook and The Louisville SLUGGER His lawyer said You get a rundown-rented-painted-chipped-room With the toilet in the HALL And a hot plate by the BED And he said, I can't BREATHE The walls are too close I'll poke my head through the window PANES Which he did And the slumlord said GET OUT and GIMME THAT WATCH To cover the damages The doctor said, "The fine trimmed lawn is sprouting weeds And the skeletons are posing in the picture window. So beware of the shadow in the sky And the howl from the hill Both can lead to the bottom Now, nothing is said As all keep their distance And point at him Crouching in the corner Covering his ears Waiting for wings. Billy's been to Iraq Billy was named after his father Who was named after his But everyone calls him junior And like the men in his family He knew the only way To make a decent living In the hills of eastern Kentucky Was coal mining or the military So he became a soldier When a marine recruiter Offered insurance housing And money for college In exchange for four years Since a high school education Barely guaranteed minimum wage Following his father's footsteps Who served in Viet Nam He went infantry and was assigned 1st Battalion of the 2nd Marine Division And for a while felt like he was helping As he patrolled among the palms and sand For bombs planted by insurgents While finding time to make The Iraqi children laugh with offers of candy Then an attack was called For the capital of the Iraqi subversive Where no American forces Had gone in months And a blur of burning white phosphorus And high explosives pounded The city of Fallujah For a full day as Billy Guided tanks into position From a twenty- pound radio That brought the thunder and robbed His left ear of sound At sunrise he learned That his best friend from infantry school Had not survived an ambush Afterwards he would recall How hard it is to raise a rifle And aim at another human being Not in spite but in duty And bypass all that Sunday morning worship Taught that one shall not kill Even after returning He learned he had brought More than memories home Assuming a combat stance At the backfire of a car Waking in the night With his new bride's neck Between his hands or Screaming at insurgents at McDonalds He's unable to sit at family gatherings Without his back to the wall And a clear view of the door Gone is the easygoing quick to laugh Prankster who kept everyone on edge With his wit and love of life Replaced by a cynical young man Full of animosity and uncertainty Toward a government who misinformed Every day his family prays That the boy they sent overseas with pride And a purpose will be home soon Until then all they can offer Is patience and love and the explanation Billy's been to Iraq In the sin of a magarita morning I dance in the arms of an angel Enjoy the curl of her smile As her eyes dart back and forth Like a child at the county fair Hard pressed to pick a prize After bursting the big balloon Hopes higher than a Ferris wheel Almost legless I glide full throttle Into a happy collision with the cold concrete Undaunted I return to reality In time to stumble through large looming gates Which guard the manicured grass Dodging the grounded angels I introduce myself to their granite stares And apologize for the early intrusion Before heading for a bright green blanket Shining like brand new dimes Where upon the headboard I place a single rose Jason Kelly Richards was born in Kentucky in a classic year for Chevolets, raised in North Carolina during the best decade of music and is currently planning his escape from Florida because the pay sucks and the humidity is absurd. His work has appeared in Pearl, The Chiron Review and others including The Ever-Dancing Muse plus online at ThunderSandwich, Red Booth Review, AntiMuse, PoetsCanvas, 63Channels, Miller's Pond and forthcoming at The Indite Circle. |
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© 2006 Underground Voices |
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