Morgan Michaels


Museum Of The City Of...Iii - Poem by Morgan Michaels

What were they looking for, there,
so long ago?
a diplomat's corpse, bound, gagged and fish-mauled?
(for whatever it's current deficits, this city once had Edge,
and blossomed in the Deuteronium spritz of the Cold War,
til things...rent, got so expensive-Why?)
The soon-to-be end of a quest
cracked by a 'facilitated' confession in some precinct back room
under the kliegs,
by such means as would make New York Law And Order's look tame
and low-tech as a wrist watch,
from some Bond-type con with good legs,
sitting hands shackled behind him, erect in a swivel chair?
A chest of plutonium, lead-lined, of course?
A water-proof safe filled with numbered, stolen bills?
The crown jewels? And if so, who's?
Letters of transit issued to some Soviet spy?
dating from a time when America unabashedly bossed the U.N.,
as it should, no? ,
and people could travel with pride and impunity,
and gas cost 79 cents a gallon?

I doubt it...


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, May 12, 2012

Poem Edited: Sunday, May 20, 2012


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