DEATH IN METAL, Sean J Mahoney

by Sean J Mahoney

It starts with the Aussie in the locker room at the Y
complaining about money, Washington, and Hillary
then announcing that he was not going to vote and,
as I saw it, just forfeited his right to complain publicly
about anything beyond his war with the mirror.
Nevermind that it is Friday the 13th.

And eleven birds scattering violently from a slow
to undress fall tree at the sound of an insurgent backfire
and then more of the tree stripping to the yellowed
lawn below. Nevermind that is it Friday the 13th.
And the angry rap-rock at the gas station; nevermind –
music just is and often is news of pain – regardless
of where you are and when it calls or blorts.
The masked man perhaps has fallen says the radio
along with his broad sword but so will many today.
So will many.

Tales of the needy diva in the recording studio mad
that she cannot drink more Mudslide prior to take 12.
The sad boy in the commercial laments “I wish I had
an Xbox.” The boy in Syria laments “I wish I had a leg
so I could play soccer with my friends” and my family
has no money for prosthetics…a word I can not own
but this writer gives me freely to use here now because
it is the right thing to do. Nevermind that it is Friday
the 13th. Unless you were at that show instead…
and then…the girl in Paris sleeps, breathing, unaware
she no longer has parents or dove or innocence or
a narrative heaven.

White boys skateboarding with brown boys on the street
alert to cars and unaware Japan just shakes. The bird
jetting from the small rain gutter puddle brushing over
my passing car, startles like a pissed off thrown object.
Gone the dreams of graphix, promising leads, or more
violet troubling news. Over and over again we fall.
Nevermind that it is Friday.


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