CHANT OF AN AMERICAN'S LAST LEG

O, Were the Ocean sand instead:
I'd make a camel out of
old gears, head East,
eat the ancient sins of my
people there with bare hands—-
Redouble their hatred so that
they lick my now-opened wounds on
one knee, in tattered peasant dress,
then point me farther still.

© 1992 Daniel X. O'Neil

back to complete table of contents