by Paul Martínez Pompa
Like moonlight, l'll slip out before
you stagger home with your
hands & fists, your song of horror
no throat nor eye-socket can
mute. I'll be back with a pistol. Be
ready, baby. Be ready for somethin' sweet.
From:
The Golden Shovel Anthology: New Poems Honoring Gwendolyn Brooks
Copyright ©:
The University of Arizona Press
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Last updated February 24, 2023