Poem: Shotgun Marriage (For Harry Crews)

When every marriage was a shotgun marriage

And death was a stranger to none

When children did what grownups could not do

And beasts of burden were as family

When surviving was pure communal ritual

And there was nothing to be ashamed of

When everyone was missing an eye or an ear or a finger

And snakes ruled the dark of night

When privilege was measured in fine gradations

And everyone appeared as some variation of dirt

When there were only two ways out

Through the cross or the bottom of a whiskey bottle

When the moon shown through the roof

And the floor was swept clean again and again

When faith healers and physicians alike were at a loss

And some things just had to be accepted

When nobody gave two shits about them

And they lived until they died

 

M. Bogen
Miami Beach
January 2023