Act 1: Haunt Me
Slow motion hell wheel
on a unicycle piloted by death's
best man. Deny it to them, those
cracked-lipped, moaning bags of
bones with sonorous waking snores
doubling as a plea for another.
What used to be dreamed about
from childhood. All the way up, even,
to now. Until the promise of no more
has reared its ugly head, wearing a Tex-Mex
chain restaurant's sombrero, no less. Blowing
on a noisemaker that makes baritone saxophone
whale calls. Calling you home. Calling you away
Act II: Hunting Season
I've poached every today of mine
in the dead of night, snares and implements
of chaos all around my canopy.
Tomorrow, he won't be no different.
I'll find him, drinking some lamentable,
overpriced mixed drink and ordering
half price appetizers to make up for it,
holding court at the bar for anyone who
wants to listen. Nobody is listening, kid.
I'll take him by his scruffy novelty tee shirt
and look him straight in his eyes, my hand around
his gullet. I'm not blinking either. Go ahead, I'll say.
Now's your chance. Come and let me hear your
timeshare pitch. Then when you think you've got me,
wrecked and sobbing, ready to hand you the keys and
let you walk me on out of here, I'm going to hoist you
into the air and wring you like a rug after an overdue
washing. You ain't taking anything, friend. Not today.
I'm not giving this to you. No chance. This is still mine.
The haunting and the hunting aren't so far removed from one another. Both nightmarish!
ReplyDeleteBoth haunt and hunt are interesting; the first is full of dark metaphors. I especially like the ‘unicycle piloted by death's best man’.
ReplyDelete