The Hanging Moss Bookstore - Great Fiction and Poetry
                                  To the First Arriving Officer

Do not cut me down
from this old oak.
Let me twist ghoulishly
in the eerie light
of these street lights.
Let me rotate slowly
in the gentle breeze of spring.

Let the drivers
come at dawn
to this busy downtown corner.
Let them swerve their cars
and screech their brakes.
Let them glimpse me
long enough
to give them nightmares.

Let the shocked pedestrians,
in the soft morning light,
back away from me
in horror.

Let my mother come
and weep at my feet.
Let me serve a purpose.
Give me this.

This poem was nominated by Slipstream for the Pushcart Prize.




                            


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