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Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Kiddie Parade with Jazz and Pain

A simple breakfast on the screened porch
with the tiny wasps feeding on the woodbine
jazz from a station in San Francisco
here I am munching raisin bran in skim milk
at the side of a small river
full of trout and frogs
and boulders with their rolling thumps
a sliced orange
drinking cheap coffee
Kurt Elling sings his flat nasality

This won't last forever
just as my infected tooth has finally
been relieved for this day
I'm feeling the reach of the vine
to the southern side of the screens
spreading out to shield me from the sun
they thinking that following the sun
now that morning awakens everything

Every day something new to see and do
and yet it all seems the same
like watching a series of childrens' parades
day after day
enough of cute costumes
and dressed-up dogs
pulled in wagons or dragged on leash
My mask is hard to see through
as I waddle down the street
hand in hand with another nearly blind child
when I see myself years older
at the side of the street
sitting on a porch screened
from the biting world
and the water flows
in an endless roil

the only savior here is a swinging bass
jesus deftly pulling the strings
on his solo
followed by big daddy on piano
and a holy spirit on drums
this is a religion
which echos on long streets
when I suddenly lose the hand
I hold
and wonder if I can make it
to the curb of my old age
inside the sunlit morning
with an empty bowl
and rinds
just there a trout grabs a black fly
Kurt seized by a grateful fan
in a bear hug
too many teeth
waiting for their own infections
like rocks pushed
by rivers of pus
bumps on the roof of my mouth
spiked by vicious bugs
that drain the yuck
from raisins
like wasps on this ever expanding
tree of woodbine
and a daybreak filled with shards of sunlight
enough to squint through the covered face
on a march through a world of applause
tutu-covered pekinese
and three cats wailing over the bay

Copyright © 2011 by Barry G. Wick

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