I saw Medea exorcising her crimes,
a bag lady, collecting heavy glass bottles
for the children, a Diet Coke can for Jason.
Next came the Penguin, trying to kick
the habit of evil at an A.A. meeting.
“I swear, I swear, I swear.” “We’ll see, we’ll see.”
Then, Nero, cowering behind a bush
on the African Plains at the Bronx Zoo,
hiding his thumbs in the folds of his tunic.
Presiding judge, author of the first treatise
on bowling, Mauritzio Gutterballis.
“Mow them down,” he decrees. “Get them both.”
“AL,” blue letters, yellow shirt, glides down the lane
toward the seven-ten split, father and son.
Pins jump like a “W,” puff of dust, they’re gone.
Al pumps his fist, slicks back his pompadour.
