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
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
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
From Flies by Michael Dickman. Copyright © 2010 by Michael Dickman. Used with permission of Copper Canyon Press. All rights reserved.