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History Poems

At the Mayor’s Funeral

By Patrick T. Reardon

Those boys stayed in the church
until seven the next morning,
through the night.

Do you know what tough duty that is?

That’s a mother
who’s giving stiffness
to the spines of her children.


history combo.2....A. Einstein

By Patrick T. Reardon

The woman walked naked
around the room,
and I could not think.

She bore me sons
with that body,
but wore at me
with questions.

I saw the film of the camp
and the women stripped and led,
awkward, holding themselves
from the cold
and from the stares,
to the ovens.

I hate those men
and all the uniformed men,
buttoned to the neck,

I hate them more
than I loved her


Two Deaths

By Patrick T. Reardon


His finger compresses the tongue of metal.
The hammer strikes.
The bullet crosses space,


The spur catches.
The bone breaks.
The fire rages
in the farmhouse


Home life

By Patrick T. Reardon

Faulkner would slap his wife,
once, hard,
when her mind would drift
and her speech slur.
He would slap her face
without thought
and resume his conversation.

MacArthur spoiled his son
with toys the boy demanded.
He bought his son many toys
and identical toys
to avoid the rise of jealousy
in playmates.

Roosevelt died away from his wife,
sitting for a portrait
in Georgia with three women.
Roosevelt died, and his wife in the Capital
attended a luncheon
for the good of the country.

history combo


Patrick T. Reardon


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