Saturday, November 10, 2007

It Looks Evil

A recent poem. Elements taken from humanity, history, the museum, McDonald's, history and Edgar Allen Poe:

It Looks Evil

The little boy pressed his nose against the glass
To closer examine the carved wooden figure before him
“It looks evil,” he observed to his mother
“It’s primitive, not evil,” replied his mother
The little boy remained, his nose pressed against the glass
Then he asked, “What’s primitive, mum?”
But she had drifted away - to another display - out of earshot:

Later, after the examining ancient culture
The pair would sit and consume modern culture
The boy offering a chicken nugget to tomato sauce
Then lifting it to his mouth and pausing
To inspect the face of the clown on the wall opposite
“He looks evil,” said the boy to his mother
“He’s not evil, he’s happy,” replied his mother
“Why is he happy?” asked the boy
“Because he’s successful,” replied his mother:

Earlier, much earlier; two hundred years and more
A member of the Haida tribe finished a carving
He placed it on the ground before him to examine it
His eyes looked down upon the wooden missionary
Hat, blank face, three-quarter-length jacket, trousers, shoes
A representation of the deliverer;
The deliverer of Christianity, smallpox, typhoid, measles
And syphilis;

Later, the tribesman would apply lignite to the carving
A raven black substance to cover the hat, jacket, trousers and shoes
The raven, a central character within Haida mythology
The character that made the world by
Stealing, exchanging, redistributing; moving things around:

Later – much later – back to the future
A cursed and tarnished cityscape, smog filled and litter covered
The little boy now a man walks through a grey city park
An almost empty bottle swinging in his hand
Through his drunken haze he spies a raven
Feeding on a discarded quarter-pounder
He whispers questions, but receives no answer
Then repeats them so much louder;
“Have we all become whores? Victims of our lustful mores?
When will this nation, this earth, receive salvation?”
The raven turns and squawks a single word
And that word is: nevermore.

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