[The fifth installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st.]
"Retribution"
Tyrus Thompson
My great-to-the-nth-degree grandfather Ben
Was hung from a thick branch for allegedly plotting insurrection.
My handful-of-times-grand aunt Hester
Was beaten to death with a fireplace poker by her seducer,
The master's son, when she informed him of her pregnancy.
My uncle Eldon was left lying crippled in the parking lot
After he tried to sit in at the Woodstove back in the uncivil Sixties.
(The acting sheriff simply deemed non-locals the culprits.)
So when we yoke this monster to the statue of Grantwood's Founder,
I'll be stabbing deep as I can into the darksome brute's chest and
Staring into the stone-blind eyes of Jeremiah Healey all the while.
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