Prodigal Poem

Mama I’ve been out

shouting with the Spoken Words, raised

my cardboard sign ‘til my throat

bled screws and I coughed

up rust.  They were woven

out of black holes they filled

with drinks from the Limericks’

alehouse crooning blues

like upbeat tunes.  Mama they’re mockingbirds

with their wings cut off.  The Beats

taught me to dance and oh Mama

you shoulda seen me.  They call me Butterfly

and Gunfire and the crowd clapped

to my two-step ‘til I tripped

and had to sit.  The Moderns

brought their books Mama and read

to me softly like you used to

only words were missing and pages

torn out and I couldn’t quite hear them

over the rocking ragtime rhythms

but they have less paper

cuts and can read in moonlight.  I went out 

stargazing with the Sonnets, kissed

their champagne stained

faces.  I looked deep

into their eyes ‘cause I remember

you said they’re glittering copper

light beams.  I still have bruises

where they stared me down Mama.  I don’t think

I shoulda looked Mama.  Back inside the Epics sang

about all kinds of things you never told me

but I don’t think you knew

and I don’t think you wanna.

They stomped and jousted

on the bartop, chanting Victory Victory

and the wayward church bells

clanging made my head spin and the room smell

like your perfume Mama so I waved down

a taxi, stumbling ‘cause

my feet hurt so bad Mama but now

I’m back Mama.  I’m back.

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