BRAIDS OF PRIDE
By Bedros Afeyan
No country of no man can do but swallow No woman of any breadth can envy or endure In our natures, killers or survivors Little Turkeys who peck the meek, deformed to death And once started can not stop pecking till all are dead
In our nature, little Turkeys, we too would kill or could so dare But for domestication, commercialization Fear of deities more hollow Than a desert freeze, a midnight owl’s stare And we are done, our myths imploded Our piss no longer runs, our heads are bowed and hung.
Tall tailed sculpted heroes varnished by street prostitutes Shiny replicas of gargled glory used as props in motel rooms Little plastic Jesus, little Sasountsi Tavit, plastic Ara Keghetsig Shoved into altars of love, exit bloody, dripping, blind Howling for the taxi driver downstairs to drive off Leave you to join skull mounds, wreaths, centennial prayers, Covered head dressed, bow legged, blackened survivor Wrinkled, poked and stroked again, in unfinished braids of pride.
Bedros Afeyan Pleasanton, CA 11-26-2010