Letter To the Judge
dear Judge
if you were me, would you do what I did
because of the roots of my hair
some shadowy gulf gods got hold of me
and they laughed while they held me
in the howling fjord where my grandfather
once mopped their bathrooms and my father became
himself Satan’s Cheerleader on their fields
till buckets of drafty sentiments took him away
my family has grown like prominent objects
held tight by the fingers of piggy fishy air
and after sad diagnostics they sizzled in volts
drowned in pickling fluids while their children
missed a mother’s love and her beans on Fridays
and forever they now wait to free their laughter
if you were me, would you do what I did
for centuries we’ve walked through a voiceless lawn
enshrouded by whirlwinds surging through nights
have you ever tasted our drafty sentiments for a day
I wish you did to know the burden of agony we carry
in the long sweep of human history
were you not there when certain nostrils prickled on pale
faces and they dug up false Darwinism sentiments at night
then they hoisted innocent frames between envy and hate
between man and beast between darkness and blindness
and the young frames blazed like a bonfire at Easter
if you were me, would you do what I did
honorable judge
why is it that all you know of me is Ben Craig
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