Monday, February 26, 2007


by David S. Pointer

When your child
is abducted the
world seems to
be serving you
a baby squid in
the black ink
sauce of insanity,
and only some
other parent's
brown eyed
Spring breeze, or
a girl with the milk
glass blue eyes of
a grandmother's
Gone with the Wind
wedding lamp could
end up as The Drive-By
Truckers latest lyrical
track, or in a landfill,
and only that family
will cry when the cops
come around more than
a Meals On Wheels van
for a while as John Walsh
on America's Most Wanted
is weary from way too
much of the wrong kind
of overtime, and each TV
episode doesn't seem
entertainment or as
propaganda's time tested
tranquilizer darts taking
a turn at taking time
away from corrupt
economics, and nobody
in charge would ever
assign an interrogating
lead detective that is a
propane torch of tenacity,
but can be fooled by some
miscreant's complex criminal
mind, yet still manages to
get full false confessions
from the city's innocent
folks before writing a
bestseller about never
finding your child.

1 comment:

trudy said...

i freaking love this poem, great choice!!