Matthew Zapruder

Self Portrait in a Porthole

Long ago when the colonies were young

I committed a minor infraction

As you can see my beard was locked

and my fingers barely grazed the light

Someone still had to convince the trees

I deserved to remain assistant clown

Though I had replaced one button on my regalia

O critical breezes filled with blow

We did on those long summer democracy nights

Only I imagine I know

I have imagined

The sadness of inevitable victory

Over the savage impulse of mercy

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