Thursday, September 13, 2012

Even Linus


Just after four
one 
October Friday,
the sky liminal, lead,
dead
branches swooning,
the Peanuts gang
cornered good ol' Charlie Brown
in the alley behind
the toy shop.

A sock was stuffed
down 
his throat, his shorts yanked down,
down
to his tiny cartoon
ankles.
Charlie Brown was pinned,
face down, 
to the filthy ground,
face mashed into used condoms,
mud, dead bugs, debris,
dogshit.

Charlie's zig-zag shirt
was indelibly soiled.

"Mom's gonna kill me!"

Lucy forced a dirty Coca-Cola
bottle up Charlie's pink
behind.

Charlie cried
and prayed,
prayed to Jesus. 
He prayed that the glass wouldn't
break inside him, 
prayed to Jesus
that his pint-size pals would just
STOP!

Agony...

(On the street,
a stone's throw away,
parents brisked by,
unseen and unseeing.
WOT! WAH! WAH!
WAH! WAH! WOT!
Voices sounding
just like trombones. None
broke
stride.)

Charlie whimpered
and cried, 
tears and snot and spit
flew off his comic strip
face. And he
prayed to Jesus,
out loud,
a wail.

The Peanuts gang
just
laughed.

Even Linus
laughed.