The Mailer Review/Volume 13, 2019/Remember the Alamo: Difference between revisions
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{{MR13}} | {{MR13}} | ||
{{byline|last=Cetrano|first=Sal|note=For David Koresh|url=http://prmlr.us/mr13cet1}} | {{byline|last=Cetrano|first=Sal|note=For David Koresh|url=http://prmlr.us/mr13cet1}} | ||
<poem> | |||
<poem> | |||
The man who sells the centrifugal lettuce crisper, the woman | The man who sells the centrifugal lettuce crisper, the woman | ||
with combination mood ring and pregnancy test kit, | with combination mood ring and pregnancy test kit, | ||
the man who seeks damages for his cataloged sufferings, | the man who seeks damages for his cataloged sufferings, | ||
the woman who warns of morning breath, | the woman who warns of morning breath, | ||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
the man whose burning compulsion is to wear a dress, | the man whose burning compulsion is to wear a dress, | ||
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the 90’s girl with self-help tape, who masturbates | the 90’s girl with self-help tape, who masturbates | ||
before triptych mirrors and gives birth to the sunrise— | before triptych mirrors and gives birth to the sunrise— | ||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
and scores of others—are trampling my fescue, | and scores of others—are trampling my fescue, | ||
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antsy to hand out all my cake, but I have no cake. | antsy to hand out all my cake, but I have no cake. | ||
I crawl naked to the doors and set the latches. | I crawl naked to the doors and set the latches. | ||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
“''Let us in!''” they chant. “''We know you’re in there!''” | “''Let us in!''” they chant. “''We know you’re in there!''” | ||
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“''None of your business!''” they yell. “''Just let us in.'' | “''None of your business!''” they yell. “''Just let us in.'' | ||
''Sooner or later, everybody lets us in. You’ll see!''” | ''Sooner or later, everybody lets us in. You’ll see!''” | ||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
The walls begin to sag. Screams and gunfire mingle. | The walls begin to sag. Screams and gunfire mingle. | ||
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I prop my back against the wall. A window shatters. | I prop my back against the wall. A window shatters. | ||
I hone my Bowie on the skull of an Amway salesman. | I hone my Bowie on the skull of an Amway salesman. | ||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
Then comes my Mexican sweetheart, incongruously | Then comes my Mexican sweetheart, incongruously | ||
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ample bosom laden with pistols. “''The cities'' | ample bosom laden with pistols. “''The cities'' | ||
''have fallen'',” she cries. “''They want the mission now.''” | ''have fallen'',” she cries. “''They want the mission now.''” | ||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
{{Review}} | {{Review}} | ||
{{DEFAULTSORT:Remember the Alamo}} | {{DEFAULTSORT:Remember the Alamo}} | ||
[[Category:Poetry (MR)]] | [[Category:Poetry (MR)]] | ||
Latest revision as of 09:53, 3 March 2021
| « | The Mailer Review • Volume 13 Number 1 • 2019 | » |
The man who sells the centrifugal lettuce crisper, the woman
with combination mood ring and pregnancy test kit,
the man who seeks damages for his cataloged sufferings,
the woman who warns of morning breath,
the man whose burning compulsion is to wear a dress,
the woman who gleefully sells him her old ones,
the 90’s girl with self-help tape, who masturbates
before triptych mirrors and gives birth to the sunrise—
and scores of others—are trampling my fescue,
correct mob demanding to be let in: famished Jacquerie
antsy to hand out all my cake, but I have no cake.
I crawl naked to the doors and set the latches.
“Let us in!” they chant. “We know you’re in there!”
“Who are you people?!” I ask. “What do you want?”
“None of your business!” they yell. “Just let us in.
Sooner or later, everybody lets us in. You’ll see!”
The walls begin to sag. Screams and gunfire mingle.
The armoire buttressing the bedroom door trembles.
I prop my back against the wall. A window shatters.
I hone my Bowie on the skull of an Amway salesman.
Then comes my Mexican sweetheart, incongruously
both blond and Jewish for purpose of this reverie,
ample bosom laden with pistols. “The cities
have fallen,” she cries. “They want the mission now.”
