death of you

POW! a man

like me but

much younger, out-

gunned, commandeered.


I’d cut you

down from the suffering

which humbles the spirit.


You never recover.

In London, wait;

take orders, bow & later,

alone with yourself,

feel like a tool, &

struck down at 50.

You gave your wife


6 children & 1 more

to your girlfriend: 7 is

my number.


It broke you.

6 Responsesso far.

  1. peterlebaige peterlebaige says:

    Ah, now I see P.O.W or P.o.W, if that’s what you mean? Not like a Batman POW!!, the way I read it………..

  2. peterlebaige peterlebaige says:

    Hi Marco, found myself like Dean not being sure how to place the person of the narrator, but all the more interesting because of that, perhaps. It works for me, and that (un)lucky seven!

    • Mark Prisco Mark Prisco says:

      thanks Peter.
      occasionally i get to thinking about my natural father, who i saw a bunch of times when i was an infant, but can barely remember. he’s the pow of the poem – on the isle of wight, so i was told (much older than my mother). But, as i say, i struggled with it. (might re-visit the poem to improve)

  3. Mark Prisco Mark Prisco says:

    haha, thanks Dean. i struggled with the composition of this poem.

  4. Dean English Dean English says:

    I like the ‘not knowing’ in this; the ‘who is he talking about?’ Also I kept picturing an ageing James Bond! London & bows, and orders, I suppose.

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