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Kung Fu Theater

Poetry By: Marcin Kuhn
Poetry



a portrait of growing up


Submitted:Dec 13, 2012    Reads: 10    Comments: 3    Likes: 2   


I remember the

piercing golden light of

the Saturday morning sun

hotly poking at my eyelids

and trying to wake me up

I remember the sound of

mother cleaning the kitchen

and living room

trying not to vacuum

until I woke up

which was usually

at about noon

because I was a night owl

and my parents

let me stay up late

on Friday nights

and now I was up

and ready to partake

in the sacred ritual

that all the boys and girls

my age would do

cartoons were in order

a lot of my friends

would get up early

to watch the morning shows

but I never liked getting up early

it was a bitter discovery

coming to understand

that the rest of the world

worked on an early schedule

so I'd catch the later shows

and then Kung Fu theater

would come on channel 5

and for one afternoon

during those times

of bullies in the schoolyard

and domestic disputes

of extreme violent outburst

because you can take

the man out of communism

but you can't take

the communism

out of the man

the brutal ways

of secret police terror

would find their way

to mother and I

but for that afternoon

none of it existed

father usually worked

on Saturdays

and peace reigned

in the house

and as Bruce Lee,

Gordon Lui, Alexander

Fu Sheg, Angela Mao,

and David Chiang

all fought like dancing

lightning bolts

they slew the demons

that surrounded me

at least for a little while

soon I would hear

the quick cutting sounds

of a blade on a cutting board

and the clanking of pots

and pans and the smell

of cooking would drift

into the living room

the sound of the front

door swinging open

and father panted in

like a dog from a run

in the fields

evening settled over our house

and the nervous laughter

in a minefield of

a broken marriage

in the background

the tv played its sad songs

and commercials

until we ran out of tears

and the last drop of blood spilled





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