Benjibopper

Clear the floor.
Play the song.
Too hip for then
now too far.
Attack every angle,
your last kill.

Don’t mind the lens.
Just give me
one last shot of you
dancing before you die.

You ahead,
giant feet flying
farther away,
quickened by the thrill of
anticipated horizons.

Still you move,
still you whoop,
just out of range.

Make room,
shove close.
A duty and joy.
Zoom in:
one last shot of you
dancing before you die.

Labels: 2011, Fiction, nova scotia, Poetry

You did us profound
you wobbly walker.

Your visible symbols say,
"why do you have that cage?
Why does that cage got blood?"

The mean-saying lady says
her reasons are good.

You nod like you do when Big People
dodge questions.

Mom and Dad do that too
when you wonder on origins
through taboo paths to temptations.

Labels: 2011, non-fiction, nova scotia, Poetry