Twenty-First Hour
I dared the leap laden by anger
I wrote a poem handed to her
waited for her yes or no
for consequence of focus on success
traveling to logic’s edge
warehoused corpses dominate
teenager who unravels mystifying
dogmas like diphtheria
whooping cough tuberculosis
cancer in benign garment or
swift malignant robe
silent when teeth refuse
to chew and heart stumbles
at every short breath gifted
to the smile of hyacinth and
flexing jasmine
light swirling aurora
nothing remains but need
for a colder heart and
Death to re-emerge as savior at
a moment of need with His foul
breath and missing teeth although
He filters the hopeless gap
between ordinary and absurd
choice and picks who
to take who to leave behind for
the next round of emotional
excitement when a single tear triumphs
and my questioning eyes wonder
are we to make love now? Yet
the poem kept the answer cleverly hidden
in the dying sunshine battling
the first hand of the moon ray
asking ‘why?’ and
two-millennium-old ghetto
in a paroxysmal elation answers:
who cares?
Libros Libertad 