TWO POEMS by Don Antenen


The Greyhound bus station was the jail
just cages and cops and rude soldiers
I talked to old men who got beat
and young men who got beat
then I drove a woman home
who just got out of prison
she called me handsome
but my throat hurt
after the hurricane
in New Orleans



The way I dream it, oil presents
the possibility of a burning hurricane
drowning New Orleans Florida Mexico
in fire and sludge and ruined beaches

Here are your beads here are your beads
this is the dance I call immolation.


At 17 years old, Don Antenen lived in a tent and documented police abuse in New Orleans following hurricane Katrina. He currently lives in Lexington, Kentucky, where he works at the public library and teaches classes at the Carnegie Literacy Center. His poetry appeared in the inaugural issue of Monolith Magazine.

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