This is one of my favorite pieces. The language is a little archaic and clunky, but I love the aphoristic ending.
Category: 2001-2005
I once asked my Pop,
“What makes a man a man?”
He answered,
“Two things my boy:
a set of balls & a cock.”
I next asked my Pop,
“And a woman, what makes that?”
“Two things my boy:
a set of boobs & a twat.”
[It’s no wonder
He & Mother
can no longer
see each other.]
One man said that
all women came
from one man,
that man is made
by the Maker’s hands.
But who creates the Maker?
Who makes the creator’s hands?
I realize now
that wool-gathering
has no place within
the shepherd’s flock.
It’s better not
to ask such questions,
to question the maker,
to make inquires to the shepherd,
to shepherd the incensed flock.
What makes a man?
I may never know.
My Pop was right
on one thing, though.
Two things make woman:
the letter “W”
& the letter “O.”
Thrown afloat from my skiff,
I drift upon flotsam flung
Far into the foaming sea.
I paddle my legs homeward,
A haven from my voyage,
Toward my true Penelope.
Tiny song birds impregnate the black sky;
Numbering more than the white points of light,
Dancing in the frozen vespertine air,
They fly carelessly through the windy night,
Talking to one another in bird-song.
Their song, such fragrant music, purple-dyed
by the darkness, carries away my cares,
Mem’ries of days failed and forever gone
might have filled my bloated heart, but no more.
I transmute day to day to day to day,
As do the birds, but not their timeless song.
It won’t change, the same it will ever stay.
Categories
Thomas & Vanessa
“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me, Thomas. I hope I never see you again, and if I do see you again, I will stab my eyes out with my fingernails.”