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May 16, 2007

Hate to Say

Brad Liening

It can be tough to tell what to make
of what washes up. The boa constrictor
stuck in the doggy door, its flat head
slowly swiveling across the front step.
The princess successfully avoids
marrying one she truly does not love
but finds herself in the dark wood.
Murderers with hearts of gold,
rats nesting in a gossamer gown.
I’ll confess that this can be easier
sometimes, like the time in college
we came home stinking drunk to find
a new sprinkler head on the living room
ceiling, reached up and grabbed a bat.
We drank the cheapest tequila
we could find and the next day
got shots for rabies. Enter fairy
godmother trailing celestial sparkles.
Enter actual godson trailing snot.
Enter intelligent life forms that have
come to Earth in peace from a distant
galaxy in order to share please some of
your planet’s fossil fuels. Enter friendly fire.
In cases of protracted warfare, the zoos
are pretty quick to go, and though
my friend believes god got it right
when he made lemurs, the annual
walleye festival my home town holds
is such a sorry joke it’s hard not to think
of glaciers crushing our colorful tents,
resetting our sad yearnings to zero.
We often carry our secret desires like
knives in boots and even mitochondria
have a job to do though I don’t have
a clue as to what it is. Who redid this
bathroom in black? Whose idea was it
to make the fire escape out of wood?
A cloud gets sucked down the chimney,
a bicycle snared in the power lines.
 
 

Posted by Rock Heals at May 16, 2007 06:30 AM