Am I the last
To mourn my brother, mourn his murder?
The reckless weakling, Thomas Ragnisson,
Shot him down, shattered his skull
Outside the wall
With his Glock Nine.
since april is poetry month, i decided to read a poem as my free tor shorty of the week, and here we are.
my days of studying anglo-saxon epic poetry are far behind me, and while i appreciate park’s effort and the attention to detail in terms of structure and adherence-to-genre-norms, the style just isn’t my thing. it’s a clever conceit; setting the action in a postapocalyptic iceland where everything’s come ’round full circle, societally, to the brutality of those olde timey norse epics—just, now the castles are surrounded by abandoned cars and chunks of concrete and suchlike, and there’s a glock in the mix.
if über-butch heroic exploits are your thing, you will no doubt love it. it does feel like the first part of something—the offense that sets a prolonged hullaballoo in motion, leading to even more bodies than will drop in this short piece. i appreciated it, but it’s not quite my thing. still, it’s free for all, so judge for yourself.
read it for yourself here: