Archive for April, 2008

We black-coated commuters
On our Wall Street morning march
Are a poem
Even if nobody writes it
And our black recriminations
On our sleepless graveyard shift
Are a poem
Even if nobody likes it

Perched atop the snowbank slope I
Watch the soundman set up his speakers
My foot taps against a low wall
Then god knows what happens
The face of the earth rears up and rolls down
Like an articulated avalanche
Panel after panel folding on hinges
Hey it wasn’t my fault

Angels in speedos stand in line at a pool
And wait to perform their high dives
I confide to my anxious friend that I
Really don’t believe in the supernatural
but I’m willing to play along
I take my turn before the grandstand
Climb to the platform
The greybeard judge trips a trapdoor
And drops me into the water
All I can wail is, Why?
As I sail out of the stadium
To drowsily stare at half-empty bookshelves

Vigilantes use high-pressure hoses
To wash away murals on restaurant walls
A pig-tailed girl and her grandma manned the controls and exclaimed in unison, The aquabat tubes! Talk about history!

At first I was outraged
How dare those fuckers
After all the years
I was on the run, hiding in the snow
Crawling into a culvert
Squirming away from a black snake
In the dead letters beneath me

So many people said, hey,
We’ve all been there before
You’ll make out okay. Nobody
Mentioned the temporary trailer,
A plywood box on skids
That would slide in the rain down the muddy hillside
And fall into the yellow lake at Grampa Frey’s farm

Then I was relieved to be free
After all the years
To jump from the train
Not to throw myself beneath the wheels
But to plunge into the water and swim away
Next thing of course I panicked
What the hell will I do now
After all the years
I ran from room to room in the mountain castle
Pulling open shuttered windows and tiny doors
That gave onto dizzying drops
The obvious thing was to get drunk
Gulp the hopeful hope to follow my bliss
Inauguration speeches and the like
To whack rolled-up rugs with mallets
Across the snow, it was like curling
With much more friction, eventually
The game devolved into a wrestling match
Then came creeping doubt
(It seriously creeped me out)
That I had never really acquired
A marketable skill set
Of any kind whatsoever
After all the years
Too many nights in a circle on the floor
A cocky farmer dictating to the world
From inside the hencoop
I had become a pound of boneless pork
A head of bok choy
Tramping through the tunnel to the parking lot
Get this and get it straight: I wasn’t laughing
Who the hell enjoys an interview
With a shrunken head?
Good thing there were about a dozen
Trespassers on the property
Entire blonde families of them
They fished me out, folks
I often despise on sight
Turn out to be very kind

As I fled feeling glum
From Saks luxury emporium
A solemn Persephone in a plain raincoat
Offered me a gourmet ginger snap
As she led a flock of lambs
Wearing white crocheted caps
On leashes of silk ribbon
I realized it was Easter again
After all