Friday, April 17, 2020

Poem During the Plague: Poem 13

Marc Goldfinger has been published by the Ibbetson Street Press, the Aurorean,, Pegasus, The Boston Poet, the Crooked River Press, Earth First! Journal, The New Renaissance, User’s News, Poiesis, The Porter Gulch Review, Rubber-Side-Down and many others. Goldfinger is also a member of the Liberation Poetry Collective and is included in the Liberation Anthology put out by the Trilingual Press. His latest collection of poetry is "Herion's Harbour" ( Ibbetson Street Press) 2019.

Plague Days 2020 
By Marc D. Goldfinger 

I never was a fucking hero; when I was young 
my English Bulldog was run down in the street; 

I cried like a baby but I was ten years old and my father 
said “men don’t cry,” but I wasn’t yet a man; just a 

boy who lost the love of my life.  I aged a bit and 
joined a gang of tough guys.  My best friend 

beat me so bad that both my eyes were black 
and my face looked as if it had two noses. 

I loved him anyway because it was the Seconals that 
caused the fight; we were twisted by barbiturates;  

knew no better.  Still running from life I fell 
in love with heroin and she was good to 

me for years; but she broke my heart over 
and over; I didn’t want any help and got none 

for years.  Things have changed now; death is  
around every corner and we have to wear masks 

when we go out.  I wear a death mask because it 
is fitting for me.  I’m still no hero but COVID-19  

doesn’t really scare me; I’m afraid of dying 
alone surrounded by strangers in gowns and 

masks; my wife won’t be allowed to hold my 
hand as I die but what can a freak like me 

expect from a world that haunted me like 
a ghost all through life and beat my face 

until I didn’t know who I was  
even when I looked in the mirror darkly 

and no one looked back, looked back. 

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