Red Light
The grave diggers of Cypress Hill are seated
at the right hand of the foreman,
coffee breaking the native tongue,
flag July mourning what is to come-
carbon and bronze put back to earth,
solemn jokes shared by all; told by none.
John Macdonald has been writing poetry for the last four years. Prior work has been published in Chronogram and Belleville Park Pages. He has worked for the last 18 years as an operations manager for a large communications company in Manhattan. He currently divides his time between Forest Hills, the East Village, and Williamsburg.
