Homage to Leon Golub,
American Painter (1922-2004)
As long as rope and handguns are available,
victims will be tied to chairs and pistol-whipped
by goons while other thugs in makeshift uniforms
look on, smoking cigarettes and glowering.
Other hapless captives will cower on the ground,
trussed up, and be promptly stomped to death.
Less fortunate ones will dangle from the rafters
upside down in straitjackets and be pumped
for information. Outside in the alley, someone else,
perhaps already dead, will be stuffed into the trunk
of an idling black sedan, never to be seen again.
This is just the way things are all day
in Leon Golub's world, where lurid anarchy prevails
and there seems to be no likelihood at all
that anyone will be restoring order soon.
So we should sit right down, have a nice hot cup
of tea and three delicious chocolate-covered cookies
and release a guilty, heartfelt sigh of gratitude
that Golub's reality, from which we cannot wrench
our anxious eyes away, bears such scant resemblance
to the one we occupy ourselves--at least for now.
George J. Searles
Originally from Jersey City, George J. Searles is a community college teacher in upstate New York. He came to higher education from an earlier career in social work (max security prison, public assistance, state mental hospital). Writing textbooks to pay the bills and poetry because he has no choice, he is a former Carnegie Foundation New York State "Professor of the Year." He has published in 80+ lit mags, including The Alembic, California Quarterly, Chiron, Coe Review, Concho River Review, Footwork, Lynx Eye, Mad Swirl, Main Street Rag, The Potomac, Red Rock Review, Seneca Review, Southampton Review, Taproot, Third Wednesday, Trajectory, and others.
Tags:
Poetry
Homage and class should go together; yet there are times they have separate visions. This isn't a case of that. Pure and purposeful poetry at its best.
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