On Anguish

by A.C. Dayton

In the Summer here you can sometimes find
An apparition sort of
Man, Brendan
Tuohy’s dad, pulling figure eights in the
High school parking lot on a Harley. He’s that
Eccentric anomaly, that
Self consumer of his woes. A reluctant fucking
Empty-bellied Cronus, who became a
Lame devourer, when he hit and ran his
First born son.
Conceive now, though, of Anguish in a frame, Hung, Limp,
Off a wall, in the
National Gallery of Victoria. A pathetic
Shepherd of Albert Schenck, the
Undone master of his
Mobile play of physiognomies. Who slipped a sheep some human
Eyes, then made us all watch it die. The Canvas
Ripper, and The Oil Dripper. A Dealer of 
Ovid’s Sorrows in an Eighteen-
Fifties French Salon, for a gallery of
Mock men. Now, tear a figure eight into these
Young dead sheep, because if you had really
Wanted to paint Anguish you w-
Ould have painted Brendan Tuohy’s dad
Etching circles into asphalt in a
School lot, and digging up damned graveyard boys.