Black Friday Crime Scene
Black Friday Crime Scene
By Phoebe Wilcox
Her name was Christine
and she was nailed to the cross
of their lust
and their greed,
and their vengeance,
and their bullshit
until finally one day she yanked out the nails
and got down off the cross
and thought to herself
about how maybe
she should take the thing apart:
reduce, reuse, recycle.
Saw it up and build a vessel of her sorrow
and set sail to a watery supermarket
where she'd say NO, NO, NO
to all who would take a number at her deli
(as if the wealth of her resources
constituted their convenience store).
Yes, the truth is that
Orders of life and love and pain
never come all sliced up
And ready to go.
Nothing is ever convenient
or cheap.
And this particular store
Right now
In the neighborhood of her heart
Happens to looks like
A goddamn Black Friday crime scene.
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Author's Note
Just going through a rough time.
Gritty poem, honesty at work here, this strong voice takes a stand and the message I'm getting is: DON'T FUCK WITH ME.
*
yes, quite a strong message, don't anyone try to fool me.
great, Phoebe
No whining. A rant for breakfast instead. I love it! *
"until finally one day she yanked out the nails
and got down off the cross
and thought to herself
about how maybe
she should take the thing apart:
reduce, reuse, recycle.
Saw it up and build a vessel of her sorrow
and set sail to a watery..."
Love this, but you lost me at "supermarket."
There are two different poems competing here.
I know--it's a couple different ideas. Susan Tepper is interviewing me in a week or so and suggested I put something up to increase my visibility or whatever--so I just found an old scrap in my edit pile and worked on it for a couple minutes. I probably wouldn't send this out for publication without an overhaul. The first half is definitely the better half, I think. Thanks for comments. I'll try and put up something that I like and care more about sometime soon. Maybe an excerpt from this novel, Flower Symbolism for Dummies, that I'm working on.