He lays this out,
Pressed to the sidewalk,
Neatly
Unfolding
The photos,
A pictographic
Criminal family tree:
Andy Warhol then,
Lower
And to the
Left,
Billy Driscoll,
Baby Jane Holzer, and
Lou Reed.
–What do these four
Have in common,
He asks?
Forced to cut wide
Around us
Shoes and legs blur by
On either side,
Darting toward Princess Street, or
The
Vertical
Glass
Face
Of shops
And offices
Disappearing,
Into sunshine glare
All around
–Little children, he adds.
For phlebotomists in a lab,
Blood is compulsory;
As it is with drama,
Portrayed,
Honestly
Emilia,
Kneeling over her colorful
Chalk “Girl with a Pearl Monroe”
Asks,
–These four were all
Parents?
He lays it out,
Hovering above the sidewalk,
Fiercely
Poking
The pictures
–These four,
And their network of minions,
Pimped and promoted
Child molestation.
A coffee and tea porter’s cart
Shimmies by
Street side
Its silver factory-pressed sides
Electric
With
Sunspots
And
Solar flares
Blinding
Emilia blinks,
Her hand guiding
Pink chalk,
Along the girl’s slender
Neck
Pole Vaulting on the Sun 
Oh my gosh, formidable!
…Fiercely
Poking
The pictures
–These four,
And their network of minions,
Pimped and promoted
Child molestation…
I was fascinated and mesmorised.
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Thank you. I really like your recent poem, Saturday. You have truly inspiring output.
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Takes courage to stand on unpopular understanding. No Facebook grease this. Thank you.
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I love how your poems are lyric photographs of people and places and simple humanity that are not cliche in any way. These are not love poems, and yet they are in love with the simplicity of everyday humanity. Every vignette makes me a little bit more at peace with being a human. Thank you for that.
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Thank you, Gwenyth. That makes me feel especially good.
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The Factory Gang was definitely up to no good. There are Facebook pages that hate on Warhol et al, but they do not recognize the beauty of the work these people produced.
Ahh but some of us are sophisticated enough to both appreciate Count Dracula’s finer points, while keeping watch over our loved-ones’ windows he’d have them open his rap-tap-tapping.
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Social Network social network social network.
I think I’ll go find a page for luddites and click the “like” button. If you need to get a hold of me, or Warhol, just find my Mother.
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…he was buried next to his mother. Andy was a devout Catholic and believed by many to have been celibate his entire life…
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MY GOD!! What a hateful foursome! Gosh.. the things people do to children!
What an intense and powerful write, my friend!! Very vivid!!
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Um, thanks? Or, thanks!! I always wonder about more than one exclamation mark. 😀
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I think my original reply was too/unfairly sarcastic. Not sure why. I guess I was worried you were being sarcastic, because of the exclamations. But, truly, thank you for your high praise.
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🙂 trust me, there was no sarcasm intended in my comment… Perhaps the nature of the poem demanded some exclamation! And in this case, the ones that formed in my mind just got transferred to writing..
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🙂 Thank you.
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sad, powerful.
bless all children.
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Your fucking brilliant
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😀 No, you are. 🙂
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Succinct, engaging and powerful with the underlying message that you never know. Image versus disgust. Strong, wrenching. Wonderful imagery and narration.
(PS Happy Birthday)
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Thank you, Beth. I’m glad you read this one. It always helps me to know your thoughts and opinions.
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The gratitude is mine. The depth of your poetry helps me refocus and dig deeper in my own.
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