Bringing Home the Bacon

The grey artillery squad with the rusty cannon

argue which spiked bullet will slay the young

beasts that rear their heads;

 

Milton causes them all to flee…

Rushdie? Wait, wait, who is he?

Use Hemmingway; they’ll kill themselves.

Fire, Virgil, Cicero, Horace, and James,

Plutarch, and Melville, we know the names,

all sure to Bohr them deathly still.”

 

Long they argue, high and shrill, not knowing what

they seek to kill.

All the while the breach lays empty.

But if a new sound, new text, new speech,

rears a young head, the grey crew cries;

     “Take aim!

Marx the range! Swift to the gun!

We see this face is far too young!

Locke and load, with Sterne inside,

a new upstart we Kant abide!

To Dante’s hell, we’ll Hume him Twain!

Re-Joyce, Re-Joyce, the head is slain!

Let none remain! Take Pope!

Take aim!”

 

The world sits with father time, waiting

for grey crews to fade and canon replace

with guns that inquire before they shoot

a new face.

 

Brice Bitter

One Response to “Bringing Home the Bacon”

  1. cnh Says:

    Excellent work! I’m still chewing on the wording of the last stanza. I can’t quite get the ‘canon replace with guns’ to sit right. I must not be putting the emphasis in the right place. I need you to enlighten me.

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