by John D Kelly

after W. B. Yeats and Biggie Smalls

Mr. Yeats warned him of becoming paltry. And so,

he gets his sons to help him with his endgame poetry.

There ain’t no chance of any soul-clap or colour

in this bloody, anaemic word-game you play, they say,

and lovingly call him the forbidden ‘N’ word

instead of Da, their clearly non-black father.

They're right of course, about the lack of any chance of him

making big waves (or bread) in his strange, esoteric pursuit.

Even his white boat is rigged in the mackerel-crowded sea

where so many wear the thin, skintight wetsuits of the dry

drowsy Emperors who live – beached – in comfortable fear

and will never sail. Sure, some don’t wear any threads at all!

You wanna smoke some skunk ‘Da’! Get a word-loaded

Beretta! Peg some neat, round holes in them squares, or

at least in the sad sweaters of those filthy-rich golfers, or

the privileged hole-in-one classes that have no taste

in what they wear, or how they comb their silly hair −

the ones that blow smoke rings up their own plaid asses.

Be like Biggie Smalls and set your sails.

Let rip and become a mad, bad, poetry-punk-rapper Dad

(not a silent, waking-dead Dad)!

We can turn your written-down crap, into bitchin' rap-rhymes.

And when we all make it big, and all have gold chains

like Mr. T. and lots of cool cars and glitzy riches you'll thank us.

And we’ll all get to hang loose and be free around a crazy pool

wit’ us fine, bikini-ed sisters. If only you all was black ‘Da’

(not just Ma, but you too) then us ‘mothers’ would be all-black

too. If only you all was black ‘Da’ then us brothers would be too.

This ain't no nursin' home for Mystic Bro’s of the Soul;

not for Mr. Y. or a cool white dude like you, Da, they say,

as they break him out his comfy jail perched high on a cliff top

with the kittiwakes and a wild-sea view. He’s smiling brightly

as they push him darkly − yet lovingly and gently − in a padded

chair they’ve pimped up with new, hammered-alloy wheels.

They help him sail over it . . . and into Byzantium.

2nd Place