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Who Won?

WHO WON?

In the USA the cowboys won

In Ukraine, the Cossacks won,

without their horses braying, lost to the horse-thieves,

they can blame the gypsies, the tartars, the Russians they can sway

with their accountant’s ciphers,

with their emperor’s and empress scepters–

those same stokers of the old ovens

they used on Jews and gypsies in Poland,

where the Polish Pope’s chosen poets voted

and got voted in this Gregorian year of the shoe and the shooed.

in Brazil, the pool-boys won,

or pretended to, with plump law-suits, talk show hostesses

overthrowing the lioness

into the salt quarry, their legs filled with injections

anointed evangelical crusaders  Cariocacasino-floormen,

they who got free tickets to Siegfried and Roy,

despised the pettier gamblers, who believed Ave Maria and amens

would help them with the Merida sports lottery.

In Argentina, the polo boys of good times and genocide

and the officers wives’ club

In Beirut their sits an old Maronite general of piety

Christian who kisses the bone relics

of a saint contained in his finger-ring,

as he were his friend Raul, the Palestinian deacon of murder in Chile,

as if he were the Polish Pope,

who secretly won as well, in Poland,

beatified, and well-behaved

heads shaved.

In Dominican Republic, DR

the enemies of Vodou,

liberals who fear Voudou even more than the French do

In Egypt, the Chileans won

In Peru, the daughter of a private oven-owner

half as rich as Yamaha and Suzuki, Nissan and all the sons

of the seven Samurai and all the sons of bitches.

In Philippines, the Manilan who first drank the poisoned

veins and mouth-masks of opium-eaters from his baton-stick,

now cannot get enough soma, like the Pusher-man

of all Pusher demons, he won, and drinks ambrosia

from a jar of the severed and pickled lips of the soarers.

He wants to make Pure

In Israel, to the surprise

of some,

he who won claims to be the son of god resurrected

to designate hell and the shadow of Ariel,

son of Ariel, meaning Lion

and Son of a Bitch, the breed mixture

is perhaps kosher

Judaism permits these beliefs, perfectly well,

but only when hell is rigged, surrounded by dirt and blue skies,

or a fine carpet, a la Cannes.

In Turkey sits a man with a penchant for ham and bonanza

before national address on the Kurdish question.

He admires Rommel, but only for his strategy. Hitler had the ideology of the two.

In Palestine, an accountant won. Maybe from Canaa.

Wall of Jericho sounds like a casino automaton with German jerry-can for light

under the diminished super moon

and a Hebron pool-cleaner prays to the East direction, pointed to on his digital phone.

But the moon of the calendar refuses to shine for illiterates

out of cyclical time and off melody, commedia dellarte

as Ensor painted it, envisioning cyclical nature of hell

and the leagues of intentions, Protestant and liberal merchants, have abolished purgatory everywhere except here.

More articles by:

Arturo Desimone is a writer, poet and visual artist currently based between Argentina and the Netherlands. He was born and raised on the island Aruba, a son of immigrants and exiles. A book of his poems, La Amada de Túnez, is forthcoming from the Argentinian poetry publisher Audisea Libros. His poems short fiction pieces and translations have appeared in literary journals such as The Adirondack Review, Blue Lyra Review, CounterPunch Poets Basement and Drunken Boat.

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