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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