All Hallow’s City
All Hallow’s City
In the city of black steel
I met a well-meaning child
dressed as the devil, pretending
to fly. I’d call him a paper tiger
(a two-faced supernova dark star)
only he had teeth–long, sharp
teeth–like stalactites, built from
slow-dripped years of sorrow and regret.
I wish his costume hid him from want
of family photos. I wonder
which suit–the pouting boy or
the leather bird–wears his heartache best
as he flails, darts over this field
of soot and stone and steel,
mechanized life. I wish Gotham
grew something other than ashes
shaped like men. I wish there were crops
sown on every rooftop, fathers
budding in every back alley, mothers
harvesting orphans from the pavement. I wish
little, frightened boys never wore black
or had to dress in the skin of the devil,
but this city holds wishes by the throat.
Appears in “Kakalak Anthology of Carolina Poets”
Taken from “…hide behind me…”