Yellow Mama Archives II

Paul Hostovsky

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Abject Lesson

 

by Paul Hostovsky

 

They kill the intellectuals first.

It goes back to the old hatred

for the smartest kid in the class,

the one whose hand was always up,

practically levitating in his seat—

“Oh, I know, I know.” But he didn’t

know they kill the intellectuals first;

didn’t know the stolid, bored,

backrow kids who were slow in school

would be swift and decisive

in violence. Where did they learn it?

he asks himself now, blood

gushing from his nose and mouth,

the articulate fingers reaching out

from the sleeves of the well-ironed uniforms

to remove daintily, almost lovingly,

the eyeglasses from the blinking eyes

of the intellectuals first, then dropping them

to the ground, then crushing them

with the boots. So much to learn, dear heart,

say the ironical uniform evil smiles,

which, stitched together, form a kind of

horizon line at the end of the world.




Benedict Arnold

 

by Paul Hostovsky

 

“I did my report on Benedict Arnold

because those other guys were all taken

by the time I got home from my grandmother’s

funeral in Florida. George Washington

and Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin

and Alexander Hamilton and John

Hancock and John Adams and John Jay

et al., were all taken and only Benedict

Arnold remained. Because nobody likes a traitor.

And his name is synonymous with betrayal.

The most infamous turncoat in our history.

But he makes for an interesting story.

And isn’t that what history ought to be?

I mean think for a minute about what the man

risked. The punishment for high treason

for much of the history of England and its colonies

was emasculation, evisceration, and decapitation,

in that order. In other words, they would cut off

your weenie (excuse me, Mrs. Cunningham,

but it’s true, you can google it if you want to),

then slice you open, and after you had finished

watching your intestines spill onto the ground,

they would cut off your head for good measure,

stick it on a spike or palisade, and there among

the other traitorous heads, display it for weeks

or months at a time. For reasons of public decency

women convicted of high treason were usually

burnt at the stake instead. And that concludes

my report on Benedict Arnold. Any questions?”




Looking Around for Something Dead to Roll Around In

 

by Paul Hostovsky

 

Feeling surly and misanthropic on Thanksgiving,

I excused myself from the table

where the gratitude was so thick you could

rip it with your canines, tear it clean off the bone

and carry it dangling and bloody in your teeth

right out of the room.

                                   Then I sniffed around

in an adjacent room for a while and, finding a dead

poet on one of the bookshelves, buried myself

in some sweetly decaying, quaintly boxy poems

for several pages, exulting in the faintly mildewing

historical smell, when all of a sudden

you burst into the room and yelled at me to stop

stewing.

 

 

Paul Hostovsky's latest book of poems is Pitching for the Apostates (Kelsay, 2023). His poems have been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, The Writer's Almanac, The Pushcart Prize Anthology, and the Best American Poetry blog. Website: paulhostovsky.com




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