Before He Left
He left a ticket
for you and me
and for everyone else
before he left.
He said he’d be back
but didn’t say when.
He said some of us
would need a ticket
long before then.
You have yours
and I have mine.
Others we know
have picked up theirs
but many haven’t.
Some never do.
Millions of tickets
have gone unclaimed.
What happens to those
who don't believe
they need a ticket?
They can always take
an uncharted flight
and pray the trip
turns out all right.
One of those Yanks
believe me
one of those Yanks
who never before
the Charleston massacre
thought about
the Confederate flag.
I spent most of my life
in Chicago, that city
of big shoulders
and short tempers, where
the Confederate flag was
not often seen and whites
and blacks laughed
and fought in public.
I live in St. Louis now
not far from Ferguson
where whites and blacks
are a pile of wood
on a back porch
waiting for a match
and some oaf to strike it.
One More for the Road
Booze, booze,
never again, groans Ollie,
flat on his back in the alley.
Ollie yawns
and the alley yawns
and out pop devils
from the netherworld
in elfin shoes and pointy hats
who dance with glee
on Ollie’s chest and chant,
“Drink, drink, all you want
and party hard because
when you come to our place
you’ll see flames applaud
those who believe
everyone goes to Heaven
and no one goes to Hell
except Adolph and Osama.
Those two wheel in coal
and fill the furnace every day.
They have too much help."
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.
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