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To Maycomb: An Epitaph to Mythology

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It is a lemon-custard day
And I have déjà-vu.
On this particular lemon-custard day I am not feeling the groove of my usual Sunday.
Leaves pull forth in tumultuous, thickening glances
Like the Second Battle of the Marne
She is an indictment of the feudalistic principles
Raised like cattle in the mismatched courthouse
Come to save the family honor
And emancipate me from the comfort of denim-
Or chain me with organza.
The clock doesn’t work.
I have tried to tell them, but
They just don’t see.





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