Memories Of A Boyhood Hero

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Memories Of A Boyhood Hero
 
Cursing through concussion streets
with his jaw cocked,
 
it's no wonder
that Pizza Face has taken
to rocking a pinball machine
 
hours on end.
 
Pockets full of fist
and pants full of lightning,
 
he checks out his reflection
in the butcher shop window
 
with five dead rabbits.
 
Inspired, he imagines
the aristocrat's tattered silk breeches
and Antoinette's shorn skull
 
wood smooth on her throat
as the rail of an old cutter ship
 
going nowhere.
 
Naive, he daydreams death
as just another stool between rounds,
cheered in his puddle of light by multitudinous corpses,
 
as a cigar slurring god advises
"work him with your left
 
your left."
 
Startled, he turns
to the sound of a cat
with his balls on fire
 
whose iron mouth hurricanes torrents
from the roofs of blue police
 
cars speeding.
 
Pizza Face walks cool cool
in Summer shade
 
old faces look out the windows
and yawn in the hallways
 
read yesterday's news
again and again.
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