by Maxwell Kuhl
Let them come and have their day
and by my hands and feet and heart
their stars will be smothered;
their breath brought down;
their nimble, aching ire wrestled to the ground.
Let them come and have their go
and turn and bend and break,
let all their unloved rage and might,
muscle, sinew, flesh and spite,
and all their angels beckoned,
come calling at my door: I await.