Fall 2012 • Vol. XXXIV No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 2012 |

Frances in Fitzgerald at the Abattoir

Frances in Fitzgerald at the abattoir Outside town, beautiful blood on the floor, Shiny in the patent leather, most all The schoolchildren's faces tanned, some Freckled with fear, the little laughter that is Divided by the little laughter that was, and Next door, the good/evil complex yet to be Built, imagining the foundations, the rebar yet To be rusting, and the whole world at times Under house arrest, a heart attack here Trumping a swelled cancer there, or suicide Never as sui generis as we thought, fat On the fire, gone with the gone with the gone, And although we've yet to find our signed Copy of Michael Ondaatje's Coming Through Slaughter, our heads full of jezz and jazz, Rendering to Caesar all manner of hooves, The Attak super glue we bought at Tarquini's For the broken terra-cotta, and while there's Still time to beat well the batter, and while There's still time to unteach what's untaught, To write it all down on our escritoire, books On t

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Frances in Fitzgerald at the abattoir Outside town, beautiful blood on the floor, Shiny in the patent leather, most all The schoolchildren's faces tanned, some Freckled with fear, the little […]

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