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The Bankers Are Swinging From The Crucifix


by David Halliday

Copyright 2017

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A nail in the hand without anger, a crucifixion

upside down without being Peter.

is pain

the only measure of being alive.

I was thinking about the children and she said

the dishes won’t wash themselves.

I wept into the clouds

that covered the glasses that we drank from.

It wasn’t that I hurt, more like I’d rented

a piano that I couldn’t play.

I wanted life

to say something about life.

There was a nail in my palm that I picked out

with my teeth. Peter was a kite

and he flew across the sky with a message following behind.

I tried to find my flashlight and my glasses.

There’s always hope before you understand,

was what Jesus meant to say.


I’m probably a little old to start a career in this business.

First words my friend said at my funeral.

And then everyone went out and attended a parade of boats and oysters.

I didn’t go because

I can’t swim.

Weeks before I had sent a couple of my friends a routine they could perform for my obituary, (like Abbot and Costello). But Vic refused and Eddy doesn’t understand English.

Only minutes to go now.

And what happens if moments before you’re about to pass you get a toothache.

And your dentist is in the Bahamas with his new girlfriend.

So I decided to have all my teeth pulled out before that happened. I read somewhere that Andre Breton had all his vowels removed from his manifestos. Before he passed.

That must have been very painful for a Frenchman.

And now a word from our sponsor.


As I grow older I find my penis retreating

inside me and crawling

through my blood vessels

like a clot.

I grow dizzy on windy days. My face is

carried away in the wind

and returns like a dog with a stick in its mouth.

Everything seems like a distraction.

Let me address the gods.

With a finger.


I was walking Baxter in the park, my daughter’s French Bulldog,

when a man

I had never seen before

nor would see again

came out of nowhere and told me that everything was

random. Then he asked me the year. When I told him he looked


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The Bankers Are Swinging From The Crucifix

In 2016 I buried my mother. I buried a world that had been reduced to a whisper. Two world wars, the roaring twenties, the great depression, the fifties, elvis presley. All a whisper. And I heard my mother in her death throes, crying like a drowning woman, crying my name. Like her mother had cried. And her mother. And now I'm at the end of my world. The world I was raised in. The good times. The Beatles. Trudeau. The assassinations. Vietnam. The Bomb. And I am so angry. I don't want to whisper. I want you bastards to wake up.

  • ISBN: 9781370937233
  • Author: David Halliday
  • Published: 2017-03-08 19:05:09
  • Words: 2110
The Bankers Are Swinging From The Crucifix The Bankers Are Swinging From The Crucifix