Mother Tongue
When our mothers
were young and working
first jobs at drive-ins after school
and on weekends, slinging burgers
and cola on trays to the windows
of sports cars of affluent American
man-brats killing their time in our country,
lecherous men who would reach out
and smack their asses, or try to,
cartoon ego-smiles on their faces
entitled laughter in their voices,
asking, “So what does
a hick honey like you
do around here for fun?”
Our mothers would turn to them
and say, in strength and venom,
“We park along the river
with boyfriends our own age
watching America burn.”
Ring-Fence Fire Sale
No matter how you say
you will not sing them lullabies
of confirmation bias —
No matter how you say
you will not write them poems
to validate their stagnation —
You must ever beware
of meth slore mercs
who will try to ply you
with red state rim jobs
hoping you will anthem
their slow self-immolation
as they try to burn without fire.
David Alec Knight is a Canadian author and artist. His work has appeared in many anthologies and journals internationally. He was recipient of the Ted Plantos Memorial Award for Poetry, 2021. LEPER MOSH (Cajun Mutt Press, 2022), is his first book to feature his own art on the cover. His next collection from Cajun Mutt Press, CROW CITY BLEEDING, will be a pre-Summer release.
Recent work has appeared in Verse Afire, Night Owl Narrative, Tickets To Midnight Volume 3, Starman Oddity Anthology, Stormwash: Environmental Poems, The Aleph Review, and Poetry Is Dead II: When You’re Dead You’re Dead. His poetry is occasionally autobiographical, but often is based on observations of every day people. He explores the shape and texture of the situational darkness in order to define whatever light may be left to find.
