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Recorded Reading: https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/xiixxrse61iryg0jds3wc/Tammany-Hall.m4a?rlkey=pepgc7wq0dvi8jv5ul7jsnwbs&dl=0

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(This one is heartbroken to have to report what is described below as the life, so far, of an American poet. She’s turning 64 this month, so thinks it unlikely to change. In the event that it should, that, of course, would be reflected in her new works.

This poem was written in another city, but the fact is that this same mechanical experience was repeated right here in Pueblo, where the poet continues to drive a seriously and embarassingly ~ as well as health-threateningly ~ crippled van through the winter.

A treefull of “birds” are celebrating this fact as the poet types it into her device.

Seven separate in-app restarts have been necessary to save it for publication.)

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Tammany Hall

Keep her weak
Keep her down
Let her speak
(Like a clown!)

Don’t want Truth
Driving down
All the streets
Of this town

Smiling, singing
All that stuff
We like things
A lot more rough!

We’ll let her
Undefended be
Right by her
Worst enemy

Because a
Mysogenistic
Man and uncaring
Mechanic

Took one third
Her money of
And left her there —
What that will prove

Is not that they’re
Unscrupulous —
After all,
They’re some of us!

But that Truth’s
Ignorant and rash
We knew it —
Just more homeless trash.

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