Lillian, The Junkie Whore Who I See Everyday On My Way to Work

By Dan Provost

Leader of one army, many mistaken tokens of affection.

She walks out so many doors of false perception that it often takes a General of the Salvation Army to point her in the right direction.

Her followers are zombies, homo-erotica addicts, laden in the stale city.

Showing pussy for stumbling dwellers to reach for…

A ringing of a bell in a schoolyard, December’s last days of school before Christmas break.

Her Hein ness is so far removed from the days of childhood; she wears the face of a million wars and cocaine battles.

She tries to tell—say something comprehensible.

Never.

Leading the flock into the some porno alleyway.

The day has begun

for her.

A Choice

Dan Provost

The suicide sword is gold…or black…or not even there

Depending what your disposition is today.

Angels cry, Gods hurt inside when the day of your last thought is upon the calendar.

Maybe the ground swells, waiting for your body to join the soil or clouds linger above rootless buildings, as you are ready to commit your final physical act on earth.

The saber is waiting, underneath the Elm tree.

Waiting, waiting with demons hiding in the branches.

Zeus will ponder, God will try to tell you no…Loki will grin, and Satan will chuckle.

They got you as you pick up the weapon…then…then

Half-Breed and Scholars

Dan Provost

Pieces of the reservation are saddled

in his rebel blood as the quiet man wanders

into the desert.

Wanting to get lost and embedded in

the sand . . .

Crawling like a decapitated snake towards

a fallen idol—disregarded by many Native Americans

who now gamble at plush casinos and chant

their prayers for profit.

The shouts of fallen shaman echoes through the plains

as the lone figure tucks up his pants,

looks right, then left—then falls to his knees to pray.

He waits to exhale, a final

possibility before the battle for his soul

is televised on some PBS channel.

Looking up to the heavens, he begs in a foreign tongue,

a last chance for some lost warrior reward . . .

A reward that never comes . . .for he understands that

this war never ended with Custer’s Last Stand . . . It only

became visible when scholars, who had nothing else to

put on their Minority Literature syllabus

decided to put Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee on

the mandatory reading list.