ANY SECOND NOW
I'm no Zulu warlord, nor
a short-sleeved madman savoring
a drip of coffee in this sad diner.
I renewed my subscription
to Gunfire because the cemeteries
aren't packed tight enough.
All I need is a toothbrush
so I can flick this rot from my mouth
that hovers and proves hate sometimes
overpowers grief. Some scars
aren't ever removed. A proverb states,
If you limp, use a walking stick.
The denizens of this city think I want
to annihilate them. A certain cadence
exists in the control they wield.
They advise me to scrub and rinse the tub
without any smears appearing. It's not like
I’m a thief who’s stolen a mother of pearl
necklace—I just want a plate of shrimp—
but this place is pitiful. I arrived an hour
ago and my roll isn't here.
Don’t they recognize me by my dome?
Don’t they know I have the ticket,
that I’m an island of volcanoes
ready to boil over any second now?
Gerald So reads "Any Second Now":
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David confesses: "There are so many massacres by angry young males that I found it tantalizing to inhabit the voice of one such animal. One word fell into another until the speaker became an explosive shooter with so-called reasons on the cusp of annihilating as many people as he could."