Merger

There was a feral child
Standing in for the priest
At the all-night church
At 18th and vine.

I was across the street
Getting a Burma Shave
At a delicatessen
In New York’s little Tokyo.

This newly minted Klondike bar
Went gold its first week
In the unfavorable Yukon market,
And the teens today favor

Other flavors of pop.
We’ve all got cyanide pills
Stashed in our wallets
And the prideful impala

Struts through living rooms
Of black lights and tungsten
High-speed steel taps.
There is a silver bullet

Aimed at the heart of the beast
In radiant makeup
Who rapes without lifting
So much as a bar code.