An Alphabet Allowing
Arthur Miller’s
The Crucible
Obvious, but A
Has to be for Abigail, afflicted adulterous Abigail
(bent on seeing
Elizabeth hang)
and Ann and her dutiful remaining daughter Ann
and B for Burroughs
and Bishop and Betty and any non-Believer
or bewilderment or bereaved or bereft
and especially the Children,
were they dancing
around a cauldron?
Do you want to say this
for C:
Cautious, extremely,
not wanting be
aCCused
or Charged,
but if you are, please,
Cue
in Danforth adept at Delivering stiff
necks
from the Dungeons with their Devils
after his judgement at the Trials
where the Eager girls claiming Evil,
giving Evidence to challenge
every decent woman
and man
of Faith not safe
in the village, not
from the fanatical
girls, or
the factions forming
against Parris,
like poor Francis
and his wife
and generations and generations
of ancestors of mute
Giles Corey paying
Under the granite
weight
for his silence
or Goody Good
and her youngest
Dorcas
who at four
is ferried off in
chains
under a Heaven
that is mute too
under a Hale
who uses tools
to quell
the hysteria,
to uncover
suspected haunts,
to send them to hell
for instance, Imagine
an incubus inside
your deepest
interiors,
judges, judges,
judges
Hathorne, Sewell,
Danforth
Where is the justice
Kvetching
against
your Kindred
klatch
with unquenchable
lust, lechery, lurking
in the hearts
of men and Marshalls,
of mimicry
of Martha Corey (married
to Giles) who suffers
under the lies
of Proctor’s
servant girl Mary Warren
who suffered
the noose
the nebulous
stretch of it
beyond the nurturing
of any Nurse
even the arbiter
Francis
respected on both
sides
Oh
cold
Halo
Oh
of all that's
Broken open and
Over
The faces of
Honest farmer Proctor
(fallen in with
Abigail)
Of
The Putnam’s Thomas (property
thief )
And Anne bereaved
Of their seven precious dead
And Parris who cares more
For his precious pulpit
and reputation
pretense/pretense
questioning and querying
and causing constant
quarrel
and poor honest
reputable reverends excepting
Parris
His parish resisting
his claim
to own the deed
to the Meetinghouse
his six pounds worth
of rationed wood
Sixteen Ninety Two:
Salem, Saints or Satan’s Salem
Skimming the songs
And spells
Of the slave
Tituba who knew
Her girls were untrustworthy
As soon as they
Tattled and ratted
On her for their
Silly titillating game
Their deadly
Ululating: witches! Witches!
WITCHES!
We are victorious
No longer victims
Of Evil or Envy
Against the WITCHES!
Great God
We hawk
the xenophobic
Yawp
Of the jealous
Zealous
Zealots!
