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“Nightwatchman’s Song” by W. D. Snodgrass 🇺🇸 (5 Jan 1926 – 13 Jan 2009)
I.
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What’s unseen may not exist—
Or so those secret powers insist
That prowl past nightfall,
Enabled by the brain’s blacklist
To fester out of sight,
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So we streak from bad to worse,
Through an expanding universe
And see no evil.
On my rounds like a night nurse
Or sentry on qui vive,
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I make, through murkier hours, my way
Where the sun patrolled all day
Toward stone-blind midnight
To poke this flickering flashlamp’s ray
At what’s hushed up and hidden.
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Lacking all leave or protocol,
Things, one by one, hear my footfall,
Blank out their faces,
Dodge between trees, find cracks in walls
Or lock down offices.
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Still, though scuttling forces flee
Just as far stars recede from me
To outmost boundaries,
I stalk through ruins and debris,
Graveyard and underground.
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Led by their helmetlantern’s light
Miners inch through anthracite;
I’m the unblinking mole
That sniffs out what gets lost or might
Slip down the world’s black hole.
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II.
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(ending his rounds, the watchman, somewhat tipsy, returns)
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What’s obscene?—just our obsessed,
Incessant itch and interest
In things found frightful:
In bestial tortures, rape, incest;
In ripe forbidden fruit
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Dangling, lush, just out of reach;
Dim cellars nailed up under each
Towering success,
The loser’s envy that will teach
A fierce vindictiveness,
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The victors’ high court that insures
Pardon for winners and procures
Little that’s needed
But all we lust for. What endures?—
Exponential greed
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And trash containers overflowing
With shredded memos, records showing
What, who, when, why
’Til there’s no sure way of knowing
What’s clear to every eye:
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The heart’s delight in hatred, runny
As the gold drip from combs of honey;
The rectal intercourse
Of power politics and money
That slimes both goal and source.
​
What’s obscured?—what’s abscessed.
After inspection, I’d suggest
It’s time we got our head
Rewired. I plan to just get pissed,
Shitfaced and brain-dead.