The Wrist-Snatcher’s Rant
Sep 2nd, 2009 | By Donal Mahoney | Category: Poetry | 1008 viewsThe others, of course,
are more rabid than I
but less apt to show it.
Whenever I strike,
I never romp off.
I stand under neon,
the wrist
that I’ve snatched
tight in my teeth
as I wait with a smile
for the wagon.
As one of the few
wrist-snatchers still
on the streets of Chicago,
I make all of my rounds
in old tennies.
They allow me to dive
for the purse hand,
whack it and sink
my teeth in the wrist
of the free hand,
give a terrier’s yip
then head for the neon
where I duck
so my head
can spin on its shoulders
till I’m certain
I have no pursuers.
In dreams every night
I see all of the women
whose wrists
I have had in my teeth.
They stand like
Statues of Liberty,
shrieking and waving
their stumps like flares.
Every night their screams
carve a frieze of patrol cars
in the middle of the street.
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About Donal Mahoney: Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, MO. He has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in or accepted by The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, Public Republic (Bulgaria), Gloom Cupboard (U.K.), Revival (Ireland), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey), Poetry Friends, Poetry Super Highway, Pirene's Fountain (Australia) and other publications. |
©2009 Donal Mahoney All Rights Reserved
“The other, of course, are more rabid than I”…..indeed.
Very provocative piece. Well done.