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Anna’s Spotlights
in life Anna garnered her
fifteen minutes of fame
during the aftermath of
Hurricane Katrina.
She refused to leave
her apartment above
a voodoo shop where
she lived with her boyfriend
in the French Quarter.
She made national news
by flashing her breasts
at law enforcement
to ensure they continued
patrolling the area.
Anna and her boyfriend
traded beer and whiskey
for fresh water and supplies.
They danced in the streets
a Mardi Gras of two.
It made a better story
than the abandoned corpses
stashed around the Superdome.
But what Warhol never said
was sometimes if you’re unlucky enough
you get another fifteen minutes
post mortem.
So it was with Anna
making national news again
compliments of a murder/suicide.
Police found her head
cooking in a pot,
the water long since evaporated,
her features scorched away.
Her arms and legs baked in the oven,
charred to the bone.
Her torso parceled in the fridge,
her breasts attracting
police attention for an
entirely different reason, now.
And Anna’s boyfriend
took the easy out,
a bullet to the head.
But he’s not really
part of the story.
Sometimes you just get
mired in the fringes,
caught in obscurity,
and you become the shadow
to one’s spotlight
and nothing you do
can change it.
sunrise
mom’s brains omeleted across
the breakfast table
body slouched in the chair
her head an empty cereal bowl
the gun’s in my hand
with the sense memory
of a pulled trigger
and mom’s dead
somehow it all ties in together
and I’m the knot
I sit in the chair across
I take the phone and dial 911
and tell them what I’ve done
mother’s blood seeps
into my shirt and jeans
wets my back and ass
I think how many times
we’ve sat at this table
me and her against the world
how she’d do anything for me
work two jobs so that
Christmas wouldn’t be lacking
and then I think how
she was before I shot her
how she wouldn’t piss
down my throat if my
guts were on fire
well, my guts are on fire
and all I needed
was twenty dollars
to ease the inferno inside me
twenty fucking dollars
to get me to the end of the day
and just thinking about it
gets me angry all over again
and I tell the cops
when they come for me
better come armed
and loaded for bear
real estate market
after a while the walls close in
the too-small house shrinks
beneath the accumulation of memories
the home once purchased with pride
now houses only shame and regret
the perimeters have been determined
and found lacking
every day I drive past houses
I wish I could inhabit
houses I’d be willing to make
a thirty year commitment to
houses I’d rent by the hour
if that option were available
more and more often I think
I’d settle for an apartment
an anonymous hotel room
a canvas tent in a storm
anything preferable to this
confinement of failures
this castle of spoiled intentions
in the meantime it’s the yearning
the lingering stares at the
high class pieces of real estate
places I know I’ll never dwell
before returning to my crumbling home
the leaking roof, the warped floor
the back porch hanging askew and
an emptiness inside that has
been there since the beginning
tempest
I've smashed
my moral compass
against the
wheel of perversion
my lusts are
the stars
guiding me now
Last update : 08-05-2007 20:04
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By: Eric Davis (Guest) on 09-05-2007 06:22