Five Short Poems About Evel Knievel
His motorcycle danced behind him
like unforgiving sins,
and fell upon him
like a psychopathic lover.
His rocket-cycle never cleared the divide,
so the snake opened its unhinged jaws to greet him.
Bones broken and welded back,
disciples of self-annihilation and gravity’s pain
offer you tribute.
Hired thugs and aluminum bats
were the tools of your literary critique.
You were good/bad, not evel,
merely a son of a bitch spliced with the DNA
of a cat. Your star-spangled outfit and cycle exhaust
made America forget the smell of napalm
and burning draft cards.
Troy Schoultz lives and writes in Oshkosh, WI. He teaches for the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh at the Fox Valley campus. He is inspired by the gothic nature of the Midwest.