13thWR

BRONZE HORSEMAN

Ever since childhood, I could never
Pass you without giving a look,
An old war hero on a horse, hat
Pulled low over your eyes, saber
Dangling at your side, not a
Typical equestrian frozen in some
Triumphant pose, but looking sleepy
And slow, slouching slightly in the
Saddle, tired like a real man,
Tired of the cars whistling past like
Artillery fire, brakes screeching like
Rebel war cries.

No one stops in the middle of the
Intersection to read your name on
The granite monument; no one knows
What you've done, the sacrifice you've
Made, no one cares; will you sit
Forever, staring down at lesser men,
Their petty squabbles about right of way
And dented fenders?

Will you remain unmoved, transfixed as
The dead you've looked on scattered across
The battlefield? Come on, spur your mount,
Let's see you ride, turn the heads of the
Picnickers with the clapping of brazen hoofs
Slapping the asphalt. Fly across the bridge,
Slapping your horse with your hat,
Speed off this island.

Feel the sun, the wind flowing through your
Hair as you ride, come on, let's hear a real
Yankee "WHOOP!" and hear your saber growl as
It's pulled from its sheath; come alive with
Rage like Pushkin's statue of Peter The Great,
Ride, ride like a madman down East Grand
Boulevard, past the rows of Victorian Mansions
With old white-haired men sitting on porches,
Bellowing from your belly: "WHOOP! WHOOP!"

Down the streets lined with boarded-up factories,
Bars and auto parts stores, stomp some common
Folks, cut some non-combatants down, make that
Old saber sing, General, then they'll know your name;
You've got to kill some civilians to be remembered.

ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF GOD

At the Second Baptist Church
Black angels in stained-glass windows
Guard the front entrance

And I think that God so loves diversity
That Cherubim of color
Wearing golden garb

Sing Gospel that makes the Saints
Slap their sacred knees
And I know that Seraphim sing the

Blues so plaintive and compelling that
Bare feet that bear the wounds of nails
Tap the holy floors of heaven

In perfect time with the rhythm
And every Saint and Martyr sways
On the right side of God

- Doug Tanoury