top of page

P. Archie Zan

            after Sharon Olds

 

It hangs in its cell, a purple-headed inmate

strangled by prison linens.

It moves when he moves, a police dog

in primal heat, frothing at the mouth, coarse hair

matted by semen and sweat — and every morning

in his presidential bed, it stands up

for the anthem, and he aims it

like a missile.

Join our mailing list

Thanks for subscribing!

©2024 by Hominum Journal

bottom of page