plantation nation

Dylan Krieger

on a steady diet of progestin & dead progeny
i dream a gone with the wind parody in which
the red earth of tara becomes subject to terror
boeing 747 crashes in its own reflection, tumor
ridden twin rabbits sad-screw and then scab over
so many sober speak nows, never hold your peace
still i don't scream when i’m supposed to, frozen cross
stitched to the scene, a hoop skirt burning sans inhabit
ants b/c we can can give a damn about a pallid heroine
w/o both pelvic floor & ceiling caving in, but when the music
swells, plantation nation’s damned to hell, there is no tragedy
to say befell our southern belle--just paradise propeller-sent while
all around we find ourselves newlywed nude & spewing sacred rain
bows onto fields of unforbidden fruit scorched much too black to blanch