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