Cleanin the junk drawer...
My mind is a jumbled mess of pencil nubs, a galaxy
of knotted rubber bands, dispensers stuck without tape,
happy meal artifacts, screws and bolts from things
that manage to stay whole. I can’t concentrate.
Sometimes I find pleasure peeling wallpaper,
strips of vines and sexual flowers. Other times
I make lists of things that need fixing. Or I drink.
Tonight, with not enough to get half drunk, I stare too long
at a chunky wooden puzzle on the table. A six piece
circus scene with seal and tiger, elephant and clowns.
The ringmaster is the one I become. I train squirrels that cuss
me from a perch of oak, full of vim. We travel through the south
and book state fairs. The Amazing Unicycle Squirrels. I slip
them licks of mixed nut paste laced with a gentle sedative.
I wear them like a gray fur coat and pass
a rusty tin for tips. I shut the drawer. Truth is,
I’m avoiding the news again. I check the glass to see
if it’s still empty. It is. Where are you? Hiding in
the utter weariness of life. The night is full
of toy pianos. I stretch my fingers and bang away.
