portion of the artwork for Matthew Sinex's poetry
Paulie Gets His in Scene 27 of The Godfather
Matthew Sinex

The golden wheat muffles
the muzzle and Clemenza
urinating. Stalks whisper
to cracks in the windshield,
and Lady Liberty
looms small in the distance.

Coppola cuts, and they
have a resurrection
on their hands:
production assistants
scurry for coffee,
surround Paulie
as he gets up
and becomes John Martino.
He straightens his tie
and asks for a drink.

Where has all this gone?
Spotlights swept away,
stalks bending to cover the dirt.
Our half-eaten nostalgia
says finish the hit
on the way things really were,
says fill in the wounds
with ragù bolognese,
says leave the gun, take the cannoli.
How else do we remember?
By forgetting what’s become.

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 35 | Winter 2012