Poetry by Seann Weir

“you will beg them      to teach you      how to pray

From Father to Son

You are going to leave      from here      you will find yourself      in a city of mirrors

you will ask      for a place to sleep      they will pull down      your pants

and demand your name      when you speak      they will see      your mouth

of baby snakes      they will know      you have the mind      of a hawk

they will know      your voice      has starved      for their songs

a gang of sopranos      will dig their fingers      a knuckles worth      into your ears

                                        and command      you to sing

they will call     for the priests     to scalp you     in daylight

the priests will tell you      there are no roads      to the temple

pilgrim and master alike      carry a machete      when they pray

they will hack off      your pubic hair       and replace it      with a smattering      of soot

on orders      to clean you      they will cover      your penis with leeches

I will stand here      pleased      I never told you      God’s name

you will beg them      to teach you      how to pray

they will say      the only God      that matters      plays dead      when prayers are said

they will throw you      in a pit      in the middle      of their city

citizens will gather      above you      they will piss on you      they will aim      for your eyes

you are going to masturbate all night     thinking about them

                                    quartering you      in the morning

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