(Governor Tom's Note: This is a poem I wrote for a workshop I took in Prague in May-June of 1999. It was part of the masters of creative writing program at USC.
It's about the Defenestration of Prague that started the Thirty Years War on May 23, 1618. A delegation of Catholic regents had arrived in Prague to negotiate with the Protestant authorities about some such squabble. The negotiations went to shit, literally, when the Catholic regents were chucked out a third story window. They all survived thanks to a huge pile of manure that broke the fall.)
It's about the Defenestration of Prague that started the Thirty Years War on May 23, 1618. A delegation of Catholic regents had arrived in Prague to negotiate with the Protestant authorities about some such squabble. The negotiations went to shit, literally, when the Catholic regents were chucked out a third story window. They all survived thanks to a huge pile of manure that broke the fall.)
__________
Until they look like worms fat with blood,
The mob's fingers redden against the three men's robes.
They pick them up and hold them
High, like a group of hunters celebrating their catch.
Their boots clip-clop across the floor
So shiny it reflects every barb of every furrowed brow.
The trio screeches and scratches to free themselves
Until the veins on the sides of their heads look like pipes.
Their captors respond by changing their frowns
Into smiles rimmed with steel.
A deafening, chaotic cackle comes
Out of the smiles when they hurl their catch out the window.
They poke their heads into the simmering May air,
Anticipating the delight of three Catholic corpses on the cobblestones.
Instead, they laugh in anger at the sight
Of three enemies covered in manure, praising God for saving them.
The mob's fingers redden against the three men's robes.
They pick them up and hold them
High, like a group of hunters celebrating their catch.
Their boots clip-clop across the floor
So shiny it reflects every barb of every furrowed brow.
The trio screeches and scratches to free themselves
Until the veins on the sides of their heads look like pipes.
Their captors respond by changing their frowns
Into smiles rimmed with steel.
A deafening, chaotic cackle comes
Out of the smiles when they hurl their catch out the window.
They poke their heads into the simmering May air,
Anticipating the delight of three Catholic corpses on the cobblestones.
Instead, they laugh in anger at the sight
Of three enemies covered in manure, praising God for saving them.
