Hoist the Jolly Roger

© By Boinkaz

Hard deck of the day rolls

from morning to lunch.

Brown beam chirrups in the wind.

I will Fo’c’s’le

all tension

on the four o’clock hour

when the wisdom of the machine

unlashes me.

Light of my evening rising in the

Spin cycle of the wash.

The sleeve of my black work shirt

Spells help in a circle

Clutches the devil’s edge.

Before the whole ship swirls under.

Under Pol Pot

back in Year Zero

they cut the breasts off pretty girls

For the crime of being pretty

And for having breasts

and lay them on a mat.

In Rwanda, Tutsis killed Hutus

And cut the legs from under them

For the crime of being tall,

to cut them down to size.

In America, our genocide is of the mind.

We humble our heroes with exhaustion,

Bring our philosophers to heel with false hope,

Sue our patriots when they rebel,

And imprison our poets when they speak.

For such people must be pirates

give them the jolly roger all

and drop them in the fast waters off the straits of Malacca,

among their kind.

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