amphibi.us

if i were a
laureate–a poet; on the rag
… and was asked

—i’d be darned,
thinking about how

greek lincoln seems,
on all the heavenly pennies;
and ‘roman,’ truman; even

before i scored, moved
that gettysburg address
off the internet

—pasted it,
word for word, into word
and then printed it at work,

‘cause
the color doesn’t run
…

(brother) …
say my parenthetical prayers
… prepare

docket on high and low
tide. bidin’ time …

‘during this
not-so-great depression—
quoting steinbeck &
f.d.r.;

looking over world war
—the korean war, too …

having started my fire
-side chat, i would
transform
from historian

into editor
of our past mistakes.

but, always keep
the drafts
in a safe place …

for generations to come.

© Devin Wayne Davis, 2010

[others]

I worked after school at my father’s bakery. I swept the floors, wrapped the food, I took out the rubbish at the end of each day. I walked down the back of the shop, pushed down hard on the back door. I walked out into the alleyway and dropped the black bins by the bricks. That was when I found Candy Bone, lying on the floor, his nose broken, his knuckles skinned. I crouched down to help him, called out ‘mister’; even though I would find out he was only a year older than me. But it’s hard to tell how old someone is when they’re face is hidden under a dozen scars and cuts.

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