Five Foot Nine Poem by John Courtney

Five Foot Nine



the bonesoil fishes slugs and worms early to the surface thanks to a mild winter
it is all they are talking about in kitchens across the internet
so surprised by the way that guns evolved from love
staked claim to a 20th century and adjusted the tie of the banks

the First Born Reich still stands as tall as they can
prouder than these pundits for sanity
who stir non-fiction into their children
clipping their wings so they won't be planes
happy birthday for seagulls chewing on oil

the trees remain in the ground
more pathetic then we are
kept in outdoor seclusion and grown only so tall
disgraced daily by the sundeep nerve of living too long
will they ever finally stand up and talk?

happiness is just nostalgia
catching kids in the light
out the back door years later
in darkness and mothers screaming
at scraped knees for the morning owl
who laughs hysterically
and flies
away

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