Chicano Poet

Thursday, March 08, 2007

De Kooning’s Gruesome Elegy For Robert Frost

Who was it that butchered Robert Frost,
cut him up into ice cubes,
butchered his horse there in the snowy woods?

Blood-red snow could not be budged
by snarling wind,
wolves came by to sniff,

but the pack hurried off into the darkness.
Canine thoughts of self-preservation
eminent in the falling flakes.

The farmer whose house was not so near
told the police he hadn’t seen a thing,
had only heard the hissing of the snow.

But Frost had miles to go before he slept,
Frost had miles to go before he slept
dismembered in the Bates Motel.


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