by gm

Adam Sol


I get all these boys poets confused
with their pop culture references
and their snappy wordplay. Also
the brilliant women reinventing language
for ambiguous purposes, them too.
If it weren’t for the bright noise
emanating from the stadium
I might not know my true purpose

but I can hear them chanting – all
of them, the pullets and mercies,
the ruptured uncles and night shift
telemarketers, the date rapists
and drama queens, the valets and vagrants –
all of them raising their magnificent voices
in grand exaltation – shouting DE-FENSE
DEFENSE, my holy, unbroken name.