Elegy on Plastic Kazoo

By | 5 December 2019

after Dean Young, for Drew

So many things in this life are unlike themselves
in cartoons, but it took me finding
a scorpion in Theodore’s bathtub
to admit it. I didn’t ask if
there was blood, a limb still
sweet from a dog’s love when they found
you. I was 11,315 days old
when I wrote this, and now I’m not
certain twigs make the best kindle for a campfire
when we’re already so many extra
cells. If I consider
myself a house of hair dressing
a home of bone, skin seems less
nonsensical. Doctors told me
Theodore was born with a stomach
no more than a marble, eyelid
thin, facts for which I was ill-
prepared so all night, I read to him
about rare metals, even rarer
exoskeletons. The Velvet
Ant, the Bird Mite. The Bark
Scorpion hardly moved when I crushed it
with the tip of a broomstick, its pop like a twig
bowing to a flame. Two days later, I mistook
a tick for an ingrown hair, and let it be. I found a friend
in a mirror once and understood differently
what it is to be eye-level with anything.

This entry was posted in 94: BAYT and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.