There are dreams I could conjure in these lines—
walk on Mars
kiss a willing stranger
wear a diamond
drive a Maserati
cut a throat—
but blood dictates another course:
And so I will not kiss you Princess
nor bind and flay your lovely hide
nor vanish with you for this weekend
of debauchery and gain ten pounds.
I’ll watch TV and write this poem
vacuum the living room
pile saltines with cheese
and have a slow late afternoon
scotch and conversation at home.
there’s something Larkian about this Douglas… the undertow… well done
I have always been intrigued by “normal” people who suddenly show up with a gun and spray bullets around the living room or classroom or bar. I have long noted that we have two distinct cultures that a lot of people live in or bridge the polite society that obeys rules and the law, and the “under” society that ignores the law and “polite rules”. They don’t just exist in fiction. Here in Cornwall Ont, we’ve had a commission inquiring ad infinitum into whether or not a “clan” of pedophiles existed here. Anyway, this piece dribbles around the edges of that idea.