Mundane Tragedy

Tragedy extends beyond the classic hues
of gaudy pain and loss.
Equally sickening as war, homicide, rape,
cancer, a pop star’s child
plummeting off the hotel balcony—
the dull horror of the American dreamless workday,
like Benny Goodman’s father with his twelve-hour days
   whittling down
   his knuckles and senses in the slaughter
   house,
   his time and spirit slaughtered alongside the
bovine beasts,
   death following him home, settling over every thing
   in every room like fine atomic dust,
and this is called ‘work ethic.’
The cattle have it better.

Swingless Mr. Goodman cannot afford
a shabby suit to go and see his son play.
         On lively ascendant melodies Benny escapes
                       up and out of the profane
Chicago night
     to economic, artistic freedom, stretching
               his long legs along history’s wide
        and fragrant boulevard,
                                   fingers capering
along the keys  

while his father beats up his own
fingers and thumbs on the frozen carcass,
never knowing his son
Benny Goodman made the whole
land (of the free) dance.

Beat, Beat thumbs.

Anthony Cristofani was two months from completing his BA in philosophy at the University of California, Santa Cruz, when he and his wife were arrested. In prison he finally began to submit his work, and has recently been published in the Chiron Review, the Minnesota Review, POETALK, Black Widow’s Web of Poetry, and Free Lunch. He paroled and recently completed his degree at the University of California, Riverside.

Email: Anthony Cristofani

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