Andromeda by Paul Gustave Doré
The rail lies cold against my ear,
listening not for a train
but hoping to hear the muffled
cries of a damsel in distress.
Sensing none, I follow the tracks
to the industrial warehouses,
hoping to find a brave and beautiful
reporter suspended over a vat of acid.
But these days the trains don’t run,
villains silence the press with lawyers
and I’ve learned that gratitude
fades with the morning dew
and a hero’s scars are just plain ugly
in the harsh light of every day.
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
The villains are in the White House! Anyway, great poem! 👍
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That’s another poem!
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I think I may just be as desilusioned and cynical as you are because I love this.
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Glad you like it! Cynicism is just another word for experience, n’est-ce pas?
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Oui.
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