deepundergroundpoetry.com
John Wayne
Little Poppin' Fresh, Doughboy of Des Plaines.
What a tangled spider web you wove, when first
you practiced to bestow
a sentence of deceit.
Little Doughboy out for a drive; into the house,
under the floor.
Parading your fried chicken supper, stuck
in your thumb, pulled out a plum, what a good
mama's boy you were!
Ephebophile clown, rosary at your chin,
pray for your soul at the hour of sin;
the confessional begins.
An obsessional religion, dancing
in the dark stillness
of an empty ritual, lost
forever.
What a tangled spider web you wove, when first
you practiced to bestow
a sentence of deceit.
Little Doughboy out for a drive; into the house,
under the floor.
Parading your fried chicken supper, stuck
in your thumb, pulled out a plum, what a good
mama's boy you were!
Ephebophile clown, rosary at your chin,
pray for your soul at the hour of sin;
the confessional begins.
An obsessional religion, dancing
in the dark stillness
of an empty ritual, lost
forever.
Published 6th Sep 2019
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