Reverie of a Gangster
We had anecdotal tales to tattle of bruising battles
And through them tell of injuries we felt
Litanies lamenting limited lives sunken in debacles
Discarded in the putrid places we dwelt
And from that ruin of beginning I salvage naught
To explain the internecine wars then
Using bottles and stones through the streets we fought
Before the cowardly eyes of each citizen.
It makes me laugh now, for we had nothing to claim
Except the misery of the simmering slums
And except for the repercussion’s scars, blend blame
With the ointment. We sat on rusty drums
Where men spoke of sexual valor like singed fishermen
And between each parody of the dry tale
Remember us in our opposing villages, blind children
Fighting each other over the empty pale.
What was it about? Why did we do it? Why did we hate
The other without a cause? Why did we
Not take our insurrections to the oppressors’ grinning gate
And lodge our protest against history?
I fought with foes I never knew, and wasted my desire
On the garbage garbled up by fires
And know the old pain when I see new gangs aspire
Towards the quicksand and funeral pyres.
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