Poem 1981
by Christopher Crawford


Women, of course,
can forgive

almost anything. Except
if you have sex

with their sisters. Though
itís a kind of murderous

forgiveness.
Most people are ok

with being beaten
quite severely

under the correct psychological
circumstances.

Anyways, if you break
your own nose with a clubbing

right hook, you care less about
what's on tv.

The party last night was a riot.
The room slowly filled

with breasts. Canapes became
sort of props to pose with

like cigarettes. Some of
the breasts had been noticed

and started to preen.
A curious odor entered

the room. It smelt
like an airless elementary

school classroom
on an August afternoon in 1981

where children
threw erasers and sundry

stationery goods at their peers
while their mothers stayed home

and were beaten, or watched tv
and examined their breasts

and upper arms for bruises
or made canapes.

The fathers, of course, thought about sisters:
lots of them,

stretched out on king-size beds in pretty dresses.
They tried hard, of course, to forgive themselves.



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NC 2011 New Year Edition