3rd Annual Independence Day Poem

              "Scoundrels"

sounds comfortably roguish
like old hounds
snuffling in their sleep
over cherished errors
of distant youth

dreams flavored by once-dominant appetites
which linger only in memory
and lightly there
like the one-time exultation of physical exertion
or the egotizing lust for acceptance

teeth rounded and yellowed
embarrassing, not threatening


but these old men, snaggletoothed,
are devoted to the bite…

these old bastards
wondervoid, sharkhearted
continue to hunt
confounding emptiness with hunger

to simultaneously cringe and strut
grabbing with both hands
stuffing what they see of the world
the gold and the terror
into their pockets
into their mouths