What are the birds called
in that neighborhood
The dogs
There were dogs flying
from branch to
branch
My friends and I climbed up the telephone poles to sit on the power lines dressed like crows
Their voices sounded like lemons
They were a smooth sheet
They grew
black feathers
Not frightening at all
but beautiful, shiny and
full of promise
What kind of light
is that?
*
The lives of my friends spend all of their time dying and coming back and dying and coming back
They take a break in summer
to mow the piss
yellow lawns, blazing
front and
back
There is no break in winter
I fall in love with the sisters of my friends
All that yellow hair!
Their arms
blazing
They lick their fingers
to wipe my face
clean
of everything
And I am glad
I am glad
I am
so glad
*
We will all be shipped away
in an icebox
with the one word OYSTERS
painted on the outside
Left alone, for once
None of my friends wrote novels or plays, from the lives of my friends came their lives Here's what we did
we played in the yard outside
after dinner
and then
we were shipped away
That was fast—
stuffed
with
lemons
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| From Flies by Michael Dickman. Copyright © 2010 by Michael Dickman. Used with permission of Copper Canyon Press. All rights reserved. |
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