Sunday, June 03, 2007

Poem 19

Predicates

Parents are bananas,
like wood and bowling pins,
they are not just hair and lips
but become like them.
Do what they do.

Homes can be like toys,
surely, they’re like records,
and of course, like hearts,
but they also can be a fever,
can do what sticks do to bones.

New vocabulary for my ‘situation’
says the guidance counselor
in a voice she’s using to warm
like I’m my hands, a winter machine.

After these sessions I walk the railroad tracks
all the way to the shatterboard bridge,
where I straddle the rusted struts
to watch the swirling murk of the creek.
I feel like a cloud and a glance.

If a train follows me here,
to this cobble boned span
we will both shake apart.
But for a while, I am like my house—
a leg, an ending, a gesture.

No comments:

Post a Comment

I like comments. They make me less dead inside.