Under punches (a poem)

Today’s entry is inspired by one of the paintings I did this afternoon…

The face
red-eyed from raging

bloodied from punch after punch
bruised and puffy
by week’s end

The atmosphere
growing thicker every day
layers of dust and grime and shit
coal and clouds duking it out
to see who chokes first

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

The storm
red-eyed and raging
a bruiser throwing punches
till the blood runs cold
well past the end of the round

America! America!
The damage being done
To make us doubt—from here on out
Can we be great again?

The face
red eyes swollen shut
blinded by pain
no relief between rounds
but holding tight to that towel

(14 May 2017)

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