Fraser Jan

Hermann has a Focke-Wulf

we can still walk
but avoiding the roads will be safest.
the others will form into packs and run;
too stupid to sleep they will rage,
half crazed and nervous,
putting yellow stickers on thier hats
and throwing rocks
hey- if youre unlucky enough to find yourself surrounded
your chances are slim,
although i have heard that sometimes it helps
if you thrust your chest forward and grab your crotch while telling them
to get the hell out of here-
they are religious fanatics and sodomizers
they get scared and slink back into the darker corridors
grinning and cruel
they are forming networks
atop the remains
of the captains new solution.
the wounds were still fresh
the time we stormed across the landscape
those little stone walls couldnt slow us down
as we ripped out all the lawn furniture and melted it down
to make ashtrays and medallions
all the women wanted us
and we would play dirt wars for fun in the streets-
and then one day,
it stopped raining.
the big guy with the hare lip sat there
and babbled to himself for a while
and then it was quiet.
and she no longer understands the mail i get
or my compulsion to fold it neatly into boxes
labelled clearly in magic marker
or why i now do so much lurking in the garden.

Copyright Fraser Jan 2001. All rights reserved.