The Blazing Light and Age, #43

It’s been ninety-five for days,
hours in age, hot tempered
youth sired in December,
ice in the veins, murderous
tendencies, instigator
of violence, one who tortures
frogs and flies, leaves dead catfish
laid out, gasping for water.
Some day soon he’ll be jonesing
for some seventh grade punk
to punish, someone’s brother
who’ll hunt him down and threaten
to tear him a new one, limb
from limb. Next, no not serial
rapist, not yet. First he needs
to get elected to Town
Dog Catcher, Alderman, vote
to toughen legislation
on every crime. Then, yes then,
he can snap, get caught screwing
some waitress, take her out back
and when she threatens to go
public with accusations
of infidelity, bribes,
extortion, then he cocks back
the hammer of the pistol,
makes her beg, puts a bullet
right between the eyes. And if
he’d only stashed the body,
buried it in a field,
shoved it into the Township’s
incinerator, well then
he’d be the Governor now,
with hopes of running next year
for President. But too bad.
He left her there, wallowing
like a catfish sucking air,
longing for water, for blood
to stop running, her body
already decaying. Sun,
coming up now, another
day at the town lake, happy
families swimming and tanning.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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