"The Punishers" — Snowdrop Garden

“THE PUNISHERS”

The punishers come in their

Sunday best, armed with deceit,

kisses and metaphysical ideations,

you know what they are better

than they do, but you play pretend

as old records spin

like the ceiling fan or your brain cells

pondering how to walk on eggshells

in those big combat boots,

pull up a chair for the AA meeting,

where you’ll sit in silence, and they’ll

talk, listening to their own voices,

then they’ll play their rusty tunes,

on tall loveless stools, somewhere

cold and artificial

you’ll tell them to stop,

it’ll keep going

horizontally, they’ll share their

precious filthy secrets, no not

secrets, doll, just trite fairytales,

tactile and volatile, they are greed,

lust and gluttony, sinning with Jesus

lying face down on their nightstands,

tearing flowers with the hands their

mothers made, but not violent so long

as they don’t punch you in the face, right?

floor spitters, earth eaters, fire

starters, the world is at their fingertips

and they know it, they smell it

as sharks do blood in the ocean,

while you, dangerously glimmering

with faith, somehow swim

and in water briefly wonder if

they’re learning you’re a person,

but you’re dry, dear, it's a game,

you a pawn and the punishers

killer players, eternal winners

sent by someone who wants you dead