Black Jacket

.

Wears scarred, black leather jacket,

Lots of loose room inside,

For good reason, if you think,

With a neat knife stroke

Sliced through near right front pocket

Won’t remember, ever in public,

How it ended up there, saved his life

Given another chance to finish his job.

Though the story’ complicated, it's good,

If you like sex, secret betrayal, danger…

Even if you won’t believe, not that long past,

Monsters once were quite real.

Children don’t worry anymore, laugh when told,

Incredible dreams describing black and white East,

Parades of sickles, stars, reds, whites, and blues,

Phantoms, napalm, Eagles, Fencers, nerve gas, Foxbats,

Cats chasing mice, shadow to shadow, with malicious intent,

No reason to care, wake sweating from nuclear nightmares;

That Wall, cement, barbed wire, was demolished long ago.

Left primeval dinosaurs gathering dust, once

Used for silent, terminal purpose,

Until extinction was assured with applause,

Relegated footnotes to revised, happier history,

Relics disclaimed, for that time never officially happened.

It’s a fine jacket, bought cheap, 360,000-haggled lira

At over-crowded, jasmine lamb-scented Izmir bazaar,

Fine Turkish leather, lucky perhaps…

It’s probably still worth wearing.

Keeps those ancient, deadly demons at bay.

Reminder that those who claim cold didn’t exist,

Never crossed chiaroscuro line into heart’s iron black.

At least, long as it wasn't hanging on coat’s rack.