The day of the strong rap does not build to a close. I see it, the heavy plop, climb from the mouths of twelve-year-olds in backyards trying to be honey cats like their fathers. Same values -- big cars giant hearts. Laying a nickel on somebody to impress the Lady. Grand Theft Money. Moving up from lazy bread to French muffins. Hawking foreign chicks rather than mellow yella. In the future I can just see him grown and slick in a hog on a heavy map he thinks is the end, the greatest. See him throwing a few dimes to the Grape Society in the nearby alley. He'll go to see his mama and sister about once a month to lay a big buck on them, knowing Mother's Day will not come till the end of the month. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EXPATIATION ON THE COMBINING OF WEATHERS AT THIRTY .... by HAYDEN CARRUTH MY FATHER'S FACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A PLANTATION BACCHANAL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO-MORROW TO FRESH WOODS AND PASTURES NEW' by AMY LOWELL THE BOOK OF STONES AND LILIES by AMY LOWELL |