They called Papa’s murderer cold-blooded
in the morning paper:
A different species, inscrutable—Not man.
Then the photo of the courtroom—
browns of justice, the oak panels of reason—a room
less colorful than I remembered. Where is the red
conflagrating vengeance in my eyes?
No towering fire in the center of the room
where I burned the killer with the varnished wood.
The picture doesn’t show me dancing ape-bodied
around the blaze, howling for the meat.—Justice?
A son of Reason?
Believe science who says I am a son of apes—one beast
roasting another on the spinning spit.
Believe science, not the fresh-printed words of man
that smudge fingers like blood.
More poetry from Tomer Knowiecki
Tomer Knowiecki is the 2009 Tangled Web Press Online Poetry Contest winner, with his poetry appearing in the upcoming 2009 Tangled Press Poetry Anthology. He resides in Los Angeles, CA, where he recently received an English degree from UCLA and is currently studying Law.