neil decker

saint jane and the safe passage

tight powder wig wiggles,
whipping out snaps.

'alright, class' and shiny apple crap.

chalk lines tracked by horn-rimmed eyes.

irritably amused by such false disguise.

'are you assured of safe passage or
will you be on your own?'

impudent. shouldn't I be asking you?

insolent. should we even know?

answers masked by safe brick
and polyester uniform-ity.

but [my] moral shines through:

eat the heart out of everything you can
and then go back for seconds

[but beware of the fat].

clomp through the courtyard
and scream toward the steeple:

'I am a man and I will feed the flame
every chance I get!'