[The fifteenth installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st.]
"Candid Cameraman"
Mark Crudup
Grantwood's vanguard is on the march
And I'm on the street corner filming the approach,
Imagining just how valuable this footage could prove.
The most heartless of the bunch will no doubt treasure a video memento,
But it's the subsequent penitents who I foresee rushing to pay me
When I threaten to post on YouTube their execution of that poor wretch.
Now as the procession passes by I holler and wave my free hand,
Getting the so-called monster to give me a head-on shot of his misfortune.
But as if enraged by the tiny red recording light, he suddenly
Breaks free from his tormentors and bull-charges towards the curb,
Bowling me over before the mob can reign him back in.
Seeing my camcorder lying smashed on the macadam,
I pop back up to my feet in an instant, exhorting,
"C'mon, everybody, let's go crucify that worthless sonuvabitch!"
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