Thursday, April 3, 2014

Poem: Prick


Denim patchwork on the great
tide of cordiality I hurdle the
breakers to the sweet spot,
lifted like a bobtoy,
lowered to the sand.

Harlow orders a suit of cactus.
The measurements take a week.
A month to find a saguaro of
the proper size, toughen the
skin with chemicals, stitch the
strips into coat and pants.

The spines are fixed at
elbow, shoulder, knee,
affording the personal space that
Harlow has been craving.
No more negotiations with
oncoming pedestrians.
No more moviehouse
debates over the armrest.
No more tailgaters at the
grocery store.
He does get looks.
They do think that he’s crazy.
But he also gets calls from women,
each of them swearing that
she will be the one who gets close.
The first two end up in the hospital.
Which only multiplies his popularity.

Harlow thinks of running for mayor.
His opponent wears a porcupine
coat with fully functioning quills.
Bracelets of rattlesnake fangs,
tipped with venom. He finds her
strangely attractive.

From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV

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