Busy, Busy, Busy

A response to Christopher Reid’s ‘The Calabash.’

Gotta make a man, man.

Gotta go, gotta go.

Just made a man, man.

Gotta go now.

Man wants a mate, man.

Gotta go, gotta go.

Just made a mate, man.

Gotta go now.

Says he doesn’t like it, man.

Gotta go, gotta go.

Say he wants it rounder, man,

Gotta go now.

Billows at the bottom, man.

Gotta go, gotta go.

Plump at the top, man.

Gotta go now.

Man wants a gourd, man?

Gotta go, gotta go.

Doesn’t want a mate, man.

Gotta go now.

Keeps him out of trouble, man?

Gotta go, gotta go.

Wait till the fall, man.

Gotta go now.

Piece by the Wayside

One hand, a watch, a wedding ring,

a peace of flesh flown off for tests -

we’ve rid the world of minor pests,

all crawling things, ants on the wing.

Let his funeral paeans sing

of perfect virtue, life denied

to God’s own son. It’s justified.

He’d still support their clamorous call

to pin the killers to the wall:
our watch's arms are sanctified.