The Opponent
Like water
to a smoky joint
that serves liquor by the barrel
to those who need it least,
or pictures in a frame
of the framed individual
who you loved
to imprison under the
pretense of
the right,
to the left,
he now stands,
leaning as far from the east
to which he once prayed
that the day would be night
as the sky would swallow sea
by allowing this plea
to be heard;
before the bully hunts his prey,
the small boy
from the country
where their customs are unlike most,
his host, less than kind,
as he prepares his mind
to be blank like white . . .
with wounds, black as night . . .
in his gray matter . . .
the place where everything
matters, more or less.
