Picaresque Odyssey with Leeches and Elephants
I am dying. My people
are dying, scoop me into the chamber
of a cistern. My image floats
anticipating a rescuing drink. I am easy
exercise for the scything jaws of hairless dragons
a blackbird in a sea of harp seals.
Smallish leeches are affixed to the side of a smallish Buick.
The Buick speeds to Cape Girardeau. The leeches
//pulse and quiver // I am driving //as fast as I can. I am
driving past the last gentleman’s club on the interstate clutching a laundry ticket…
Shake me from my nausea. Pull me
from the wonton grease of my palms.
Big lake, Fig lake-- a thousand lakes named Big lake //described
with the jerk of a thumb.
Loon tune, in June-- I can’t carry this tune!
Are we going to the beach? It’s a beautiful day!
Elephants step over sunburned insurance agents.
Their footprints are shallow.
The elephants must tread lightly or disturb the karma of the beach.
The stranger refuses to discourse
at the bleached concrete moorings He stands
among a litter of acorns ///cracked and smelling of grub larvae
His journey described a solitary dawn patrol I find him hard
to understand he chain-smokes weak tea.
I am grateful for the jelly filled donut and simply nod
The eye of a dolphin blinks between the bars of a smooth prison.
The dry noses of outlandish clown’s sniff in disdain.
I am afraid.
Black starlings peck at pellets of rice. //Sweat stains
the flannel sheets of the day bed.
//The fever is mayhem // The horizon dangles
on the bridge of my nose.
- Randell Smith