The Daily Dispatch

it sounded more like a compliment
than an inquiry

i felt uneasy

no gangs? he asked

and i’m thinking

no, not really – are you joking?

and then i’m imagining menacing groups of teenage boys in do-rags
galloping
through the streets of
the gracefield subdivision

i tell him
no, not really, but of course they’re kind of everywhere

i’m trying to say that we’re all the same
and that nobody is really secure
and that

well, also, gangsters are just people
i mean, if they were around here
i wouldn’t be
uh, terrified, or anything

i drive through some pretty
rough neighborhoods
every day

hey – it may look like we’re doing well
but i’m not like the rest of these people

it’s just good luck at the moment
and it could change

i wonder where he lives
and what it’s like there
but i don’t ask

why
am
i
ashamed?

you people

i don’t know what to say to you

you expect some sort of
explanation
or
justification

or insight concerning my state
of mind

at the time

you can talk all you want
about cries for help
or
brain chemistry or
family history

and some things being overdetermined

but i swear
to christ

some days i am just

disgusted with you
disgusted with myself
disgusted

with this world…

ps:
but, honestly
mostly with you

god forbid
we should ever be
twenty minutes without some grey haired white guy
casting swine before pearls

the people
cannot be all, and always
well informed

am i right?

lethargy

misconceptions

you have the right to
remain silent

and pardon my pacifier

but the blood of tyrants
will not be shed
by your update on facebook

empty feeder sways
over the backyard terrace
birds have flown away

Red November, Back November
by Ralph Chaplin

Red November, black November,
Bleak November, black and red.
Hallowed month of labor’s martyrs,
Labor’s heroes, labor’s dead.

Labor’s wrath and hope and sorrow,
Red the promise, black the threat,
Who are we not to remember?
Who are we to dare forget?

Black and red the colors blended,
Black and red the pledge we made,
Red until the fight is ended,
Black until the debt is paid.

In memory of the Haymarket Martyrs, who were executed by the State of Illinois 125 years ago this month.