POEM WRITTEN IN 90 SECONDS
(you'll ask what took me)
Zapruder happened to film
JFK's head being blown off
onto Jackie's lap, but somehow
didn't catch the second
gunman, but me? I wonder
who laid the seed on that knoll
to make it grassy in the first place,
and what does it matter?
It's true: the happenstance
of Zapruder's celluloid
made his name notorious,
but the money came in handy,
so who am I to argue? I wasn't
born when all this happened,
and for all I know it didn't,
the way history books lie these days,
and truth is in the mind of the poet,
once again exposed on the film of Zapruder,
the lone gunman of metaphor.
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