The death of Marat was
bad, but at least he looked
good.
I don’t want to go out a slob,
nothing against slobs.
I want to die handsome, like
Marat, or at least the way Jacques-
Louis David saw him
with a letter in his hand and the sun
light casting a golden shadow
on his shoulders, forehead, and left forearm.
Stabbed to death by a strange friend with false
credentials and a reason to come in.
George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, Havana Times, South China Morning Post, The Buffalo News, and more.
See all his poems on Tea House here.
