Serving several purposes & Lips
by Wendy S Walters
[ poetry - october 04 ]
Serving several purposes
Because the sky was black with duck. Why we laugh
at them when they can not help but to fall in love with us
because we are so damn beautiful. Hard to be beautiful,
so banjo, we fall down, even the good people laugh.
And we did not expect to win all the dollars, thus
humble, but if we did, every pony would be omnibus
or black with luck, unspeakable fortune. My dutiful
gang breeds relentless want, not half desire, half
pain. Ignore those who do not know us to be plus,
to be fat to look at. Behave as sure and merciful
mouths fling dirt to mark a turn on point, to discuss
their doubt for how I sleep with needle in pocket -
no sharper course than to blot out fear when I fuss
or glower if dusk pales or the moon slips out of socket.
Lips
Were flying east, towards Arizona, when eclipsed
by a throng of Monarch butterflies and swept south
to Michoacan where oyamel firs braced for brilliant
infestation, insects a fury birds do not know, and lips
avoided telling the shameful truth, how much youth
they spent on broken vows to flutter, how they could
not have predicted being this old, amidst this pageant
or requiem where generations fall from the sky, strip
circadian rhythms down to a refrain. This one red mouth
sings harmony to frenzy, then sings it again stridently
as there will not be time to make it to Mexico, woods
forgotten. There will be no time for careful estimation
of how to get back, if daylight moves as it should,
if flight evolves past the promise of destination.
