Train In New York City

What is in a son

who capitates his fathers head

and has

the vengeance of a snake

curled in his remorse

and hate

from his mothers dangerous memory.

How are sons born to facilitate

egregious acts

and potential murder without

taking

two steps back in their anger?

Shall poets

write of these things

or is all evil our virtual playground?

This man

once boy, was a smart lad all right

Troublesome in school

and ran numbers

for the mob on the side.

His mother’s father, a preacher

told me

of his wanderings and misfortunes.

I tried to connect with him

but the opportunity

was refused when it came.

Undisciplined by life

he became a working class renegade

thinking his scruples

were above everyone else

in other words, a manipulator.

Perhaps a cold existence

his choices

were to banish me from his life

and from his land I left

never

to lay eyes upon him ever again.

I will never share my success

and prideful journey

of compassion and wisdom

with a snake

that is full of poison.

He drives his train in New York

a job separated

by a steel cabin and lonesome trail

alone with his mind and soul.

His mother, a beautiful woman

whose psychotic meanderings

corrupted her mind

raising a son just like herself.

Do Swedes

still embattle their subjects

using their pride as a shield

against

those they claimed to have loved?

Never a more beautiful woman

with such a dark heart

has crossed my path again

or challenged

my soul as she, and he.

The comfort of my knowing

has brought me

to the bridge

of glowing knowledge

prepared

for the reprisal by others

now that I have seen the face

of a satanic eye.

Perhaps one day

when riding the train in New York City …