by Cyrus Cassells
1
Mister, from love’s keening distance,
I send you dread, discord,
A dead pauper’s
Unerring kiss, “double, double,
Toil and trouble”—the foraged
Bolts, welts, and buffoonish stitches
Of your own meandering,
Pell-mell Frankenstein;
From Lady Justice’s impeccable scales,
I bequeath you
A child’s flimsy cootie-catcher,
Opened to the words
Comb-over or Snake!—
A throwaway crown, a fake,
Fracked-to-the-hilt
Share of heirloom land,
Acres of unsellable real estate
On the very dissipated earth
You doggedly lacerated
And dismantled—
At an eleventh hour, when the lollygagging,
Wall-building, around-the-clock inanities,
2
And countless renegade cruelties
Have ceased to grow and cascade
Like Rapunzel’s hair,
And the glittering hourglass sands
Have nearly halted,
Apprentice felon, primetime charlatan,
Un-budging jester on the Hill,
May the emperor-is-naked folderol,
The blight of your slipknot reign,
Your slap-shrill tenure,
Shock your tattered soul in full…
Poem copyright 2021 by Cyrus Cassells. All rights reserved.
See two more poems from Cyrus Cassells debuted on The Fight & The Fiddle: “Maples Anticipating Their Autumn Colors,” and “My Only Bible”
Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt