Russell Kennerly

The Hangperson

the hangman called,
wants his wooden cross back,
the crooked one you been using metaphorically
as a shovel, a newsstand,
and sometimes an eating tray.
take it back ten years or so: you're sellin' sorrow like heroin,
and then you've the temerity to deny his tears
like a claims examiner. you told him
hell is filled with bitter, boring songs

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