Poem: What!

What!

At the base of Mount Shasta stands a grove of pygmy sequoias with flowing blonde locks. Subterranean thermals melt a rhombus into the snow. At the tip of the rhombus stands an amphitheater constructed of wax paper. A man splits the aluminum curtains, performs a balletic leap and crumples to the floor. A banana descends from the flies, bearing the face of Jesus Christ, who is always showing up in these situations. The man peels the banana, revealing a microphone. He speaks:

Surely there are those for whom the modern day bears no resemblance to the paintings inside my head. It is for her that we present the following fiasco:

I am a brown hyphen, three

inches long, magnetic.

A congresswoman shot in the

head. Tell me what you believe.

Hand on heart.

I am a jukebox containing

three thousand two hundred and

fifty three songs.

Drunken dancers, children spread

out like locusts, stripping the trees.

I am a random series of

photos on an Internet page.

It could be that I have

struck the limits of language,

a personal iceberg next to the

rubber ducks and Roget’s Thesaurus.

What happens when you run out of

meaning? Tapdancing is useful in

car accidents but just a step

away from yodeling.

I am a nine-digit numeral,

a ten-digit numeral, a house.

Could I

please

could I

A bearded man on a bicycle,

pedaling straight into the traffic.

Tell me your three favorite

flavors of yogurt I feel you

are drifting I have these

things called fingers and I

would like to use them.

A man crosses the street as

slowly as possible, daring

you to hit him.

I am an ’86 Toyota pickup.

Orange.

A man dances the

cha-cha with a

dust devil.

A girl enters stage left, sits cross-legged, opens a lunchbox and unwraps a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The crust bears the face of the President of the United States, who is always showing up in these situations.

I am the audience.

From the collection Fields of Satchmo

Photo by MJV