Marché de Fer, Port-au-Prince

It looks like the zombie apocalypse is doing very well here,
thank you Madame l’Ambassadeur.

Or that suddenly civilization turned around and says
thanks that was great but let’s just be friends, okay?

This is where men die every day for lack of poetry, while we –
staunch remains of confetti d’empire – just lose it.

Yet mother cat reminds of the endless love – metal structure,
market day.

Only men have guns here. The women? Well they know of
the secret crossroads.

I know I’m white. Just let me breathe it. All this confusion.
This joyful mess. Basically Invictus.

Published in Eunoia Review