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Thoughts on a Snowy Day in March
[March, 2008]

One hundred Canadas
Gathered to fluff
Themselves like
Porn stars
Awaiting
the next scene
On Art Van's
Snow covered
Lot, sign out front
Proclaiming
Annual Clearance Sale
A weekly event.
A rasta girl buys
Two Packs of Camels
At the Red Neck Gas
Sits in her Datsun trucklet,
Hands Shaking
As she lights one.
The squirrels in back
Are too fat to scurry
Muck less climb
They waddle like
Woodchucks
And never mind
How much waddle
The manuscript sits
Imploring me to scratch it
With a ball point or
Fountain nib.
Does this count
As a leontine arrival?
On TV I watch
A documentary
On Stalingrad,
The Russians
Win again,
Proxies
For dicktators.
Dialectically speaking.
No two wars
Are identical
Ball games, woman
No two alike.
Sex is the bear's
Pseudo-hibernation,
A cocooning in warmth
And smug smugness.
Keeping others happy
Is a matter of focus
Doing the work,
Making sure the rocket sled
Is on the tracks
Or you pound the blocking sled
With your shoulders square.
There is vague talk of phone sex,
How KY can complicate
Can complicate
Machines,
The statement making
Me an avid eavesdropper
On technical conversation.


 
 
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