By Ihor Pidhainy
mad words, mad words, mad words
why don’t you curse me more than you have others
why must I bear witness?
this cold, cold winter – return to days of my youth when winter lasted well into the spring and snow could be found lurking in summer declivities –
you are bringing the children of your street a golden sheen;
a thin patented layer of congealed skin, flesh and bones insulates them
from us passing by.
Where is my fortune? why can I not walk into any bank and come out overflowing with the warmth of wealth – and then roll it down the frozen pavement so that it can thin the hardened faces and bring twitches of humanity back to all of us.
when the war comes, where can I hide?
when the hordes break forth from their sacred grounds and come to steal our wealth, whither shall I go?
Will I be able to bring my wife? my parents?
or will we hide in basements during the long days ahead and use the dark as pretext to scavenge?
Where can I hide?
the smell of chocolate is keeping me alive this season.
but when my box is gone, will I need to beg to get some more?
I could sell my body, but that would not bring in a great supply.
I could sell my possessions, but they are mostly books,
their value is questionable, they can be downloaded.
I could keep my mouth shut, that ought to be worth a box or two…
Let me instead,
worship the sun, go south –
there, I’ve been told, even the poor and unwanted sleep in warmth,
have enough to keep their grumbling bellies benign
can intoxicate themselves for a couple of coins,
miserable, but nonetheless a form of paradise.
perhaps I’ll lead demonstrations and revolutions,
but I dislike crowds
never enjoyed a parade,
never trusted destruction…
perhaps I’ll speak my mind,
declare my thoughts and beliefs,
my loves and hates, my desires and aspirations,
but then I’ll be trapped, jailed, sentenced, executed, buried and a tax burden to family and friends
while waiting for trial
and I’ll have lost my supply of chocolate
About the Author:
Born in Canada, Ihor Pidhainy lives and works in the American South. His poetry has appeared in Washington Square Review, The Louisville Review, Bloody & Honey and other journals. His chapbook, “Meditations on Fathers and Sons” is available at Bottlecap Press. Follow him https://www.instagram.com/pidhainyihor/ or https://x.com/storiedsongs