Saturday, June 16, 2018

janet phelan poem contelpro


COINTELPRO
"It wasn't so hard,"
he said
taking a long, deep drag on his cigar.
"She was all bluff.
When you got beneath her skin,
she was just bravado, spit and string.
I snapped her like a twig."
They sat in silence on the bench
in Central Park
breathing in the power of dark suits
and expensive cigars
and blowing small, frail rings
which hung in the air
for as long as it would take
for them to appear as if they were actually
substantial
and then they dissolved
into the dying grey afternoon.
A small black squirrel
darted from behind a cedar
sniffed the air
then began to burrow under
the stiiff, crimson-veined leaves.
Winter's coming.
Save what you can.



Janet Phelan