11/22/2017 Poetry by Larry RogersDon Harder Heredity Growing up in a small Arkansas town In the dark ages Of the 1950s When your father And your father’s father Had required Shock therapy You learned to hate The word heredity You learned to hate Those whispering The word heredity Behind your back You learned to hate Those who asked How’s your old man When they knew He was undergoing Another round Of shock treatments And the way they Looked at you, watching For confirmation Of that old adage Like father like son Your first thought Was to suggest They all go to hell But a young boy Talking like that Would have been The confirmation They were looking for Coping I’m whiskey drunk and whistling Dixie past a Confederate graveyard in a piney woods town, limping toward a boarding house room where tonight, my first night back in the Real World, I’ll be grateful for the hissing and rattling of a radiator that distracts me from the constant shelling in my head, and grateful for the sirens on the street outside that boarding house that distance me from the sound of small arms fire in my head. I’m whiskey drunk and whistling Dixie past a Confederate graveyard in my hometown; collar turned up against the wind that isn’t blowing. ![]() Bio: Larry Rogers is a poet-singer/songwriter. Golden Antelope Press recently published a full-length collection of his poems titled "Live Free or Croak." It's available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Comments are closed.
|
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
December 2024
Categories |