Awash, amuck in gunk and mud, the slogging bile of the rain
Doused and logged, the watered tier of dying garden suddenly slippery,
sopping, drenched. If I’d been a bard back in times of Beowulf’s kingdom,
I’d know soddenas seething, sink your teeth into it raging! Chasing down the soused
and doused, the snickering suited mob, the sodden-brained zoo
we still insist on calling government—those shriveled, puckered, empty gongs.
Amuck, awash in gunk and mud, the slugged out hearing of the woman,
frightened, brave, speaking a truth to a mob that could not hear.
But oh! How they heard the man whose self-pity filled a chamber
with his suckling sobs, his boo-hoo me, his why’s everyone always picking on me??
No scintilla of remorse, or whiff of recognition, just the sodden vitriol
of white man going down. Hear the echoes of his soused teen laughter?
Sot! Floating in the kind of luck that ruins another’s life,
but what the fuck? As long as his luck’s on the rise.
The waters rise, the drowning waves, the floods mow down
everything. Awash in mud, the slogging bile of the rain.
Copyright 2018 Sharon Fagan McDermott
Sharon Fagan McDermott is a poet, musician, and a teacher of literature at a private school in Pittsburgh, PA. Her most recent collection of poetry, Life Without Furniture, published by Jacar Press (2018) wrestles with finding and feeling at home in the world and seeking sanctuary in an often challenging life.