2 Poems

I wonder: is it a bit like life

on the flood plain of the Truckee River?

Because who knows what that is really like?

Oh: so now you tell me it’s akin

to being condemned to attend the same

scientific swap-meet, day after day.

Well, on Mars, the piano is always slightly

out of tune—that’s the heat,

the wind, the swirling sand, thanks a bunch.

When a unicorn appeared on the flood plain

of the Truckee River there was not a hair out of place!

Its single horn was polished to a blinding sheen.

The following day? Another unicorn

(or perhaps an encore of the first.)

Day three. One more.

Day Four? Who knows.

Thank goodness I was groomed

and ready for all of this:

Contemplating life on Mars was

the only thing that could prepare me

for the sight of a unicorn.

And only seeing those unicorns

could have prepared me

for life on Mars.

When you seize a grudge and clutch it to your chest

what happens next?

Recall the Spartan youth who stole a fox, then, stoic,

hid it underneath his cloak and suffered death

rather than disclose his misdemeanor? The desperate

creature gnawed and clawed the boy’s belly; imagine

the wounds. But could the lad have dropped the beast

and borne the consequence? Not according to his code.

And thus you carry harm, day in and day out, feeding

table-scraps to your destroyer.