highlighting the space between
statue and sunset
How did I get here?
resurrecting on the throne
Tyrant dead-eye smile
stirs the heart and poisons souls
seduced to torture
Pancake heart flipping
over and over again
and I don’t know why
Tell people you’re a poet,
they wonder if it rhymes,
I’m like fuck you, poetry don’t rhyme,
well, except sometimes,
“So far,” Colonel Johns said looking over the remaining rations, “it’s not lookin’ great.”
We were desperately starving, and there were six of us. “We’ve got one apple, and that’s it.”
Chaplain Holmes’ eyes flicked from the apple to group captain Mandrake and then to the gunners Thompson and Dunbar, all of them craving to the point of breaking.
It was only Jimmy, the homeless orphan-turned mess hall boy, who knew what to do. He lunged at the apple, grabbed it and flung it over the side of the raft into the ocean.
We all starved, but none were murdered.