Thu, 09 Jul 2009

So, Poetry Now?

Anybody who knows me knows I have about as much use for poetry as a cat has for pajamas. In a college literature class, my poetry-loving professor asked me, do you think poetry has any value? I told him it was often a good source for story titles.

So what came along and laid this in my brain like a cuckoo's egg last night, I have no idea. At least I've now expelled it and don't have to tote it around in my head any more.

a dream
one day
abdullah
asked me
why am i here
at first
i didn't understand
and said he could go
if he wanted
to the other side of the
rusted out shipping
container
but there was more shade
on this side
and sometimes
jackals
came over there
since there was nothing
else to do, we talked
some more, until i realized
he meant something deeper
why were we all
here
why had he and i and these
others
drifted to this blasted heath
this carbonate plain this
skeleton diorama
with the flotsam of war
and famine
and chaos
i didn't know
what to tell
him
should i say
that one warm night
fourteen years ago
a junkie whore
and a teenaged soldier
decided to scratch
their itches
like the dogs do
but instead of a
dog
they made him
instead of being blessed
with four swift legs and many
sharp teeth
he was cursed
with a mind that asked
why am i here
or do i say
that an all powerful
god
made sure he was placed gently
carefully
lovingly
in this place
where nothing grows
i think
even the priests
don't believe that
i finally said
it was because
he
was too beautiful
for the places of men
so he came
to make sure
all was not ugliness
here
he knew i was
lying
but i wasn't

Posted at: 19:34 | category: /Fiction | Comments (0)