Carl Hall

Carl Hall sat in the back of a car,
a little white dog in his lap,
the barrel of his .38 pointed at
the back of Bobby Greenlease’s head.
Bobby died because he was rich.

Carl Hall came from money.
He met Bobby’s older half brother
at a private school.
Carl Hall planned a kidnap for ransom.
Alcoholic, drug addict, gambler,

child murderer, Carl Hall.
Bonnie Heady drove the car.
She walked into Bobby’s school,
lied she was Bobby’s aunt.
They buried him in a hole in her yard.

“At least I put flowers on his grave,”
she said.
These prison walls only God forgives.
She put on a long black dress.
She looked into Carl Hall’s eyes.
They died in the gas chamber.

Heebie-jeebies Love

We talked a black sound, Grady Chapman
of the Robins, singing I Love Paris,
a black sound, you knew it wasn’t Perry
Como. Little Richard black sound, Pat
Boone, how white can you get. Little Richard
one leg on the piano, banging, screaming
like he’s irate but he’s having fun so are
ones watching TV because it’s not like
what you’d see on Milton Berle, who was
a pretty cool guy in his own self. Pat Boone
book in his arm letter sweater say M, white
bucks white trellis open convertible door for
pony tailed Shirley. Little Richard screaming
off the walls, no, no, not out of control he’s
a showman with substance and not to take
anything from Pat, for kicks let’s happy
heavenly Little Richard album: April Love
What else did Pat? I think of Little Richard
white suit pomaded hair bangs a keyboard
like when I and thousands watch from
screens. Pat Boone even published a book,
Tips for kids to stay with well and out of
handcuffs.

Subway Vigilante

John Ramos and George Hollister
look at John’s poem “Subway Vigilante.”
“A white guy on a train
surrounded, closed in by four black youths.”

Why black and white? George asks.

Race is a key factor.
In a different poem
I could have a black guy and white youths.

“Don’t touch me,”
thought Charles Mraz.
This his tragedy in New York City in 1984
is told by him.

“I fired my .38.”

Closed in, he took out a gun and fired?

Five times.
Then I voiced the shooter’s thoughts.

“This is easy, this feels good.
Don’t touch me, for five dollars,
my worth, my dignity.”

They asked for money?

Firing the .38
he went crazy. How else could a person
fire a gun at someone
think it feels good?

“Don’t scare the shit out of me!
I fired again and again.
The last shot severed Burton’s spinal cord.”

“It could have been me.
I got up from the filthy train, escaped
and read about the man
who wasn’t going to take it anymore,
Charles Mraz.
Then the public mood changed.
I was Lincoln Rockwell
and David Duke all in one monster.”

He goes back to the beginning.

“Doors slid open. Gangstas trudged in.
I looked up at a poster:
a man and woman
hand in hand strolling in a meadow ad
for Salems.
A silver boombox blared “That Girl.”

“I’m not drooling, sitting by a window,
nor in prison, nor in church
kneeling in a pew praying God, forgive me. “

George says, I wouldn’t have had a gun.

Mraz tries to weasel out
of that evening in the underground.

“Pretend I wasn’t sitting next to one
of them.
How are you? Give me five dollars.”

John told George he wrote this last year.