Children of the Poppy
A small boy abandoned on a freeway,
intersection Hades/five miles Hell/next exit.
Morning sun does not breathe on this child.
Children of the Poppy: some stolen some
abandoned, some dead.
Midnight on its toes, promise of a surge
greater than self. An offertory bless the
vein that craves for death is dark and nods
a dreamy head. A wicked refrain complete
with jail cell strip search overdose.
An image of four young comrades poised
while waiting, and the little one only eleven
can’t hold up his head. The others make the
finger while humming alive with pulsing
night hour jazz.
Ruined children stained teeth shattered heart,
History purges them. Plastic bag snaps open,
knife chops & some wine some die some fix.
Chance holds the Queen of Hearts under an
abandoned indigo sky.
First published in poeticdiversity: the litzine of Los Angeles, November 2013