The Savages

[billy]

the title gives us a heads up, so that's doing it's job.

Me and the lads were scooping up steak with our hands
while Sally cried outside. We'd hitched her to a porch railing
and stood in line the night before, me at the front,
being everyone's pa. No other human life has set foot here
since the war of times ago. My lads aren't raised on ink and page.
Sun is son and land is sand and would is wood and Sally's game;
"sister/daughter" means nothing; neither does "brother/son".
(sun son sun son sun son sun son)
Images are faggot play. One lad was drawing in the land
so me and the others smashed his head.
Now he staggers everywhere. He's not cried like Sally though,
who cries so much I wonder if she'll wash herself away,
like Alice, that girl in the hole I heard about as a lad.
Before Sally her ma was hitched to that post,
when the war still lived and arts weren't quite extinct.
A few painters and poets hid underground,
beating out their images. All that's left is literal.

an excellent post apocalyptic piece of writing jack. the word play is generous and entertaining. while the poem has lots of taboo circulating within it, it doesn't feel like it's approving of any actions, it just is as it is.
i think it's a solid piece of writing. very prose poetry but i think the narrative lends itself to prose. u haven't done a line by line because i like all of it. some sturdy images without being to crude. it feels like a true crude (if you know what i mean, i do )

thanks for the read.

ops forgot i do have one nit. considering the time framing from mother to sally to when he was (presumably a child) he does feel a little to well educated.