Bye, Bye Blackbird

© 2011 Rob Krabbe / Originally published on Voxpoetica.com

1929

The malaise of the depression

swings from a long black coat.

Wind flapped duster tails,

his hat pulled down low.

Sailing hands fly suddenly

in deadly circles, hurling graves

as machine guns blaze.

Quells the ravenous republic's hunger

for a hero, swooping down, the majestic hawk

from the clouds with succulent

worms and sad stories of battles

corpses, and conspiracy to the open trembling beaks.

Slaughtering the whole hog,

and laughing from the mud pen.

Manic and frenzied mad hatters

and Hoover's minions, peering through

the eyes of a random helpless god

In a tailored black suit.

Dry and dusty throats mute, stumbling

through the American dream and watch

as the teller dies and dreams fade.

His voice scratchy like 32 ounce wind proof wool

"I'm not here for your money, just the bank's,

put your wallet away."

Gravel weary, grizzled and bleary,

the eyes of an era; the eyes of opportunity

Roll credits and flickering fame in a dark theater

on an award winning newsreel.

Death came all the same.

Closing the chapter, the book

and the eyes of John H Dillinger.