The Poetry Marathon

Place an order for staples

put it on the steering wheel

flaps in the blowing A/C

adjacent lane, car comes to sudden stop

thud and crunch

head is whipped forward

post-it note unmoved.

Kaleidoscope glasses

arm flapping and

shouting random words

at nothing

customers gawked at you

but they still signed up for memberships

even looking into the fractals on your face.

We were on your father’s boat

the dog went overboard

your mother was convinced

that there were bull sharks in the water

the propeller skipped off of the sand

and your dad dragged the dog out by its collar.

Sweltering, collapsing

mind ran ragged

fumbling forward to the manhole

endurance athlete

made by necessity

clearing the hurdles

by falling over them.

Genetic code, that’s all it is

endlessly mutable and

becoming antibiotic resistant

tiny things, squirming with cilia

and seeking new homes to fester in

where they might rest for a while

and learn how to do something much worse.

Green

slick fluid skating the lake, punctured by frog legs barely caught in camera shutter before slamming lily pad down

Bitter

Smell of nature’s decay, multitudinous bacteria forming colonies finally visible to the eye, watering upon growing nearer

Half-submerged log

Forced into the ecosystem, helpless and made colony home, one side completely covered in mossy residue eating away

Reclaimed

Inner tube left becomes new host, entire pond now home, brought back under nature’s control, visitors quickly abandon plans, cooler back in trunk, sunscreen scraped from nose.

Freedom.

I plot my interests into acceptability diagrams

and use the finished piece to distance myself further

quarantine, I call it, is the reason I don’t try

musing that exposure to me is misery

and that there are so many others you’d like

working with much larger circles.

I try to picture your face to the point that I’m straining

But it’s a blur shot through with skin tone fractals

My mind’s eye is stuck on other things

That were in the peripheral

Victims from car crashes

often mention that

they only remember

the red digits on the dashboard

The brain trying

to create a selective memory

so that what’s left

isn’t too traumatic

I know it’s trying to spare me

from holding your pain too long

but sometimes

it would be nice to see your face

even if it hurts.

Rope bridge suspended over chasm

we’re walking it, even as it sways

and know that the fall would be

completely catastrophic.

There’s a part of us both

that knows this trail ends

and sometimes it’s so good

I could stay on this unstable bridge forever.

In anticipation of downturn,

the future retreated

in the face of geopolitical

driving.

Using random words pulled from ‘The Final Call’ newsletter, proudly delivered to my friend’s yard, unrequested, by some guy since a few months ago.