GONE UNDERGROUND
C Ra McGuirt
suddenly i miss you.
at times, you were like me:
politically profane enough to wonder
just who would be in charge of
the Department of Corrections
after the Revolution.
i recall you clothed in candlelight,
weeping with satisfaction
& ask myself where you might be
this very early morning...
probably in some city
with some scumbag
of a boyfriend,
who rarely, if ever,
provokes you
to tears.
