Chichen Itza

Stand at the brim, and you will see

A god caped with a Fleur-de-lis

Handsome pug nosed face like flint

His breath a hint of coarsened mint

I am a wise man from a well

With more stories than I can tell

He says with a touch of rye

For a tortoise shell props the sky

Or it did, once upon a time

Back when we bathed in crimson slime

When with speckled eyes we traced

Our starry gods bejeweled laced

So you’re a god who worships god

A plastic pygmy stabbed in sod

I say with a hint of tears

And a jaundiced look at his spears

One in each hand this wise man holds

Tips bloodied by time’s punctured folds

Tomorrow is yesteryear

He responds with no hint of fear

My name now is Chichen Itza

Half off with a slice of pizza

He says as he turns away

Buy me a drink, and you can stay

And so that is what I shall do

A shot to the red white and blue

And to all the Genghis Khans

Who bury gods in well trimmed lawns

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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