For the Day of Saint George the Great
April Twenty-Third, Nineteen Seventy-Two
Saint George
withstands unto blood—
he is not a rare roast beef-eating
reasonable Englishman—
he a Cappadochian
who says his prayers in Greek.
Humming a tune from Piraeus
—opou Yiórgos kai malamá—
and snapping his fingers
he sneaks
up—you betcha—on the dragon and
cuts out its Adam's apple
then sits on a rock
to feast on his feta, olives, and bread of cracked wheat
before releasing the quivering nobly—thighed maiden
with thick black hair down to her ass … she'll wait.
Destroyer of the evil one
Deliverer of captives
Physician to the tortured
we wait for your fire
to ignite in our eyes
for your
strength, O Liberator
to wrap around
our wrists
for your
holy fingers to rip away
the little red x that marks our
breasts from which we shall bleed
terribly for our joy and freedom!