What Rough Beast | Poem for March 26, 2017

Frederick Pollack
Rush Hour

Does lesser evil envy greater?
The question raises others:
can evil imagine anything
without immediately claiming it?
It is the evil themselves
who dispute these issues, mimicking
reason on their commute
across the fragile ornamental bridge
they claim is six-lane highway
from the old town to the older town
(both fetid slums said to be
exploding with new construction).
The alleys of the older town
wind into sewerless hills. Up there
in a shrine somewhere is the diamond rose
they worship, basis of the currency.
At dawn, as they cross
beneath exhausted blue-green sky
(purest air in the world!), someone bold
cries from the bank; and at night,
as they filter back, an illicit flashlight
briefly reveals the unblinking
insectile look they call innocence.
It is unsuccessfully modeled
on that of a captive, blinded, bound,
they drop when no one’s looking
into the noble river, a stony creek
that flows as impotently as critique.

 

Frederick Pollack is the author the book-length narrative poems The Adventure (Story Line Press, 1986) and Happiness (Story Line Press, 1998) as well as the poetry collection A Poverty of Words (Prolific Press, 2015). His collection Landscape with Mutant is forthcoming from Smokestack Books in 2018. His poems have appeared in numerous journals including Salmagundi, Main Street Rag, BlazeVox, Mudlark, OccuPoetry, and Triggerfish.

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