For some reason,
the man who set you on fire
doesn't bother me.
I have already decided
he was sick or evil or both,
demonic rages can be so close
to mental illnesses--I know
what I'm talking about,
so I don't judge him,
the one with the torch, the one who
brutally raped you in a public square
in the light of day in the bustle
of business... he makes sense to me
sick, evil bastard of a flamer
but I cannot comprehend
the people who watch:
the people who watch:
the ones who do not think
they should bum rush him,
take him down
before you became
a screaming
a screaming
blaze of gory
the ones video taping
instagramming
tweeting
facebooking
looking away
looking away
in the light of day
in the bustle of business
pausing from barter
and buying, from
food and chatter
to make a silent
movie in their minds
so they could shut out your
voice (if that's what
they could possibly
call the sound coming
from a throat
on fire)
© Valerie Bridgeman
February 7, 2013
FOR February 6, 2013
DRAFT
Based on a snatch of a story I heard in passing
This hurts. This is amazing. This is how I feel. The watchers are the sick ones! This piece said what I'm trying to say. My favorite line is "the man who set you on fire doesn't bother me" because it pulls me in enough to wonder why he doesn't bother you, then I see why, because the evil videotapers are the worst.
ReplyDeleteI almost recoiled from that line when I popped in my head and then just went with it. I re-worked this poem several times... still don't know if it's "through." Thanks for your feedback.
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