Films Prophetic

Late night altar calls
after films prophetic
loud wooden floors
and heads bowed, sweating
every event examined,
each pared for hidden meaning
pulling the seeds
from the core of Eve’s apple
Nineteen-eighty eight four years late,
Orwell’s augur, Jeremiad,
Mondale a coming anti-something
the scent of burgers sizzling over nearby coals
like Dante’s would be villains purgatorying
in their numbered hells
still the morning comes again
waking to brush teeth over open fountains
and finding horse paths stamped down by strange children
barely strapped in,
hardly squires, these inner city rascals
no Gawain among them,
or even a Lancelot in this all-boy crowd
tugging the cantina’s shutters
in search of sugary snacks
something to quench the summer heat
before the next softball round.


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