Reed, Chattanooga

For Fred

Whatever your name, whatever
Your beef, I read you like I
Read a book
You would gut a nursery
To make the papers, like
Medusa your Poster Queen
You mur­der children
With no father’s consent

You map your trea­che­ry shrewdly,
A computer
Click clicking
As it tracks a ship
Headed for the Unknown
Making com­plex maneuvers
Before spla­shing down into
Mystery

Suppose eve­ryone wan­ted it their
Way, traf­fic would be bot­tled up
The Horsemen couldn’t come
There would be no beau­ty, no radio
No one could hear your monologues
Without drums or chorus
In which you are right
And others, sha­dows, snat­ching things

Fate, The Gods, A Jinx, The Ruling Class
Taboo, eve­ry­thing but you
All the while you so helpless
So char­ming, so innocent
Crossed your legs and the lawyer
Muttered, drop­ped your hankie
And the judges stuttered

You for­got one thing though, thief
Leaving a sil­ver ear­ring at the
Scene of a house you’ve pilfered
You will trip up somewhere
And the case will be closed

Standup Antigone,
The jury finds you guilty
Antigone, may the Eater
Of The Dead savor your heart
You wrong girl, you wrong
Antigone, you dead, wrong
Antigone, this is it

Your hair will turn white overnight