He Was Real Before He Became
a Pablum English Myth
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Reduced to being hero, poet, dead
And soldier, he is trapped up on a plinth
Above pink paving stones, his gorgeous head
Adored by many, now not even nth
In certain value, Brooke is stranded far
Beyond imagination, bronze, too thick,
Not more. This head so badly formed, a scar
Across the cosmos is a sculptor’s trick
Against esthetics and the truth. Laid bare
Are little genitals –so . . . he was male–
And shoved his cock in male and female, pair
Of balls flopping, making metal go pale.
The man was tortured and he fucked. The scene
Presented is unknowlingly obscene.