ode to the block captain
Wednesday, February 27th, 2013From behind the blinds,
every jogger looks mean and
each dog a mongrel.
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From behind the blinds,
every jogger looks mean and
each dog a mongrel.
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Jacket stained with rain,
he darted through shadowy
alleys bound for home.
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Seven years of feast
and seven years of famine.
Early climate change?
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The denizens of
Genesis endure hundreds
of years of boot-up.
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The meaning of Lot
has been lost among lurid
escapades and wine.
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Brothers of the good
book often embody less-
than-holy kinship.
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Noah brought the beasts
and birds aboard, worrying
not about sea life.
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Two kids walked through a
quiet garden. One hungered.
Then both were banished.
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Before Babel, we
spoke as one, with a certain
je ne sais quoi. Merde.
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Millard, Zachary,
Rutherford, Chester, Grover,
this day’s for them, too.
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A certain calmness
radiated from the leaves
breathing in silence.
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The warriors wolfed down
trays of soft tacos, not for
nourishment but sport.
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The shrimp cocktail was
somewhat small. The towels were
passably fluffy.
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When you find it, don’t
ignore it. Nurture it, and
let it shine from you.
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For fun, god of love
makes up mismatches from hell
for his amusement.
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