Salem, Massachusetts 2012

Arthur, your allegory expands
through time, a whore’s tampon
with the Red Scare leaking
communism.

This town is an allegorical pit,
layers of morals like stock
characters in a dung pile.
I will fly from it, fly from
this window like Betty Parris.

Sure, the Devil flies me on his
broom, above the barn.
Sure, I sign my name, nail
it to the church door like
ignorance, a Bible in a
glove box next to a gun.

Puritan village: so dumb, so.
That wasn’t a deer you hit;
it was Big Foot, I tell you.

Pray to the Great Big Foot.
He was born from the ground,
resurrected from larva after
his ancestor appeared from
the other side of the volcano
with a list of rules, guidelines.
Commandment 1: no fun.

I’ve sailed this Puritan sea
for so long, too long.
I leave you to your ignorance.
Tell them I flew, over the barn,
the Great Barn Revival.
Tell them I am John Proctor,
committing lechery of the mind.
Tell them Elizabeth is with me.

Tell them I’ll hang for pride,
Lord’s Prayer echoing through
their laughter,

like 1692.