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POETRY damned hearts in a weird heap of heinous masks, and held our breath when a well-dressed sniper (the coward ran away in a white car!) presto, relieved his gun of a bullet or two. In Memphis there was no sun and we knew you're praying. What an angelic hour for you and us to dance around a martyr's corpse! They say you died for everybody ... Did you die for the sniper too? What man . . . what place! Memphis, your Golgotha, the most befitting setting for just another American comedy! _______________________________________ The Twentieth Spring CONSTANCE E. BERKLEY What manner of mother am I, Standing Close in the hangman's shadow - Chattering out my chill fears Aside the man's stockage gate, Waiting for the night . . . Waiting where the safe ones stand, Watching them who took the helm Through my confused complicity . . . Why do I bear their abuse Like a beast of burden While their violent escapades Defy every essence of my necessity To recreate anew child-whisper beauty, Not destroy what I live for, Why am I waiting, petrified . . . Watching them - promiscuous merchants 147