This poem is inspired by the punk rock band, the Germs.

Darby's Dilemma

Italics by Darby Crash and Pat Smear

What we do is secret

in the bedrooms, bars, brothels

that pulsate and fester like infected wounds

oozing through crumbling cities.

What we do is secret,

the notes and peer-reviews scribbled in margins

of a Sunday school bible.

“Some of your images are rather nice, Jehovah,

but your narrative suggests dementia of a higher order.”

What we do is secret

in beer-halls and salons,

with whispers of sedition.

Talk of treason in tea-houses,

tallying estimates for the orphans we’ll make.

What we do is secret

in the comfort of our homes,

but secrets too loud to keep

smolder like cigarette butts

on the armchair of a drunken, slumbering father.