Poem: Prick

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