What does the willow twig
so precisely laid across
the corner trash bin have to say?
What voices do
the green corn husks
and the corn silk,
the desiccated
chicken thigh bone,
lying on the sidewalk
picked over by the ants, have?
On the lamp post,
a washed out grayish xerox,
protected by a yard or two
of packing tape, displays
a smirking sun-glassed face
hiding behind bold block letters:
-DEVIL'S ADVOCATE-
The barking discord on the screens
finds it's way down to the street.
What deal was the suit guy yesterday,
striding past the construction pit
speaking loudly into his phone
about some launches, cooking up?
Surely not about North Korea
but in these days
of strange opportunities,
who knows?
There is a man in Cairo
who collects ephemera,
as trivial as toothbrushes and ticket stubs,
lighters and old shopping bags,
stores them in multiple apartments.
He says, everything is wonderful,
he finds meaning in every battered toy.
I spied a perfectly sliced
half moon this morning,
straight up overhead.
It looked like a dime slipping
into a slot in blue infinity
waiting for god's hand
to pull the lever
and spin the wheels
to come up jackpot cherries
but the odds are more likely
to come up bell seven lemon.
All I could think of re the willow part is that :
ReplyDelete1. the underneath bark part contains aspirin
2. "clean as a whistle" is about sliding the bark off
And, that might win a jackpot somewhere
Ah willow bark, the magical anti inflamatory. Too bad we don't have a political equivalent to treat our headache.
DeleteBrilliant. As usual. That last two paragraphs which somehow make perfect sense. I'll never look at the moon quite the same again.
ReplyDeleteYour minute focus on the beauty of us all is as close as I get to a remedy for the madness thank u