“Necromance,” a Poem by Brendan Joyce

The only thing the dead are good for
to a fascist is voting. As the world gets more
expensive the people get cheaper. I do not name
my dead; the boys I flirted with while they beat
me, the girls who played connect the dots
with my freckles with a boxcutter, the doorman
or the line cook or the canvasser. Even in death
they had jobs to name them. I try to name them
without their violence, polite redactions, policy
choices. I try to demystify their mystical
functions & classifications. When I am dead
do not name me in relation to capital I will
be wageless & worthless & perfect.

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From Personal Problem by Brendan Joyce. Copyright © 2023. Published by Grieveland Poetry Press.