Rigoberto Gonzalez – Ⅳ
Morgue Sonnet
for George W. Bush
The library has been doused with formaldehyde.
A stack of encyclopedias reminds us of Brazil—
the pile of bound goats that declared itself alive
by the sporadic—and startling!—twinkle.
Look under A for Apartheid. G for Genocide.
Flesh sticks stubbornly to the bone and windows
for the bullet and baton. They will not be buried,
these stick figures pinned upright to the shtetl.
Mogadishu. Nicaragua. Every sore a letter shy
of an epidemic. We will march bravely toward the WW
and wince at its firing squad of fangs wedged beside
Viet Nam. An eye for a machete to clear the jungle:
the pages need room for a new century of synopses
with headings instead of toe tags, number corpses.
for George W. Bush
The library has been doused with formaldehyde.
A stack of encyclopedias reminds us of Brazil—
the pile of bound goats that declared itself alive
by the sporadic—and startling!—twinkle.
Look under A for Apartheid. G for Genocide.
Flesh sticks stubbornly to the bone and windows
for the bullet and baton. They will not be buried,
these stick figures pinned upright to the shtetl.
Mogadishu. Nicaragua. Every sore a letter shy
of an epidemic. We will march bravely toward the WW
and wince at its firing squad of fangs wedged beside
Viet Nam. An eye for a machete to clear the jungle:
the pages need room for a new century of synopses
with headings instead of toe tags, number corpses.