Draft. Still working on last stanza.
The Oriental fire bellies are singing.
They are splayed under a plastic tree branch
beneath a florescent sun, croaking their soft song,
a clinking bell only I can hear.
I am looking at them and they look at me.
A threat, I guess. One clearly arching his back,
rising up with his slimy fat body pressed flat
against the glass, all unkin reflex,
showing me his toxic orange belly and his
“come-hither-and-I’ll-kill-you” bullshit stance.
That’s cold blooded, my friend.
You will never attract a female like that,
but I hear what you’re saying.
The night is long and slippery.
We have no words to speak of
so let’s not talk of dying,
or finding perfect happiness,
not tonight. We’re all in this together.
Show me your true colors
and I’ll show you mine.
Let’s heed the call and rise
out of the trance of ourselves,
secrete our souls into the world,
this place of life, hiding behind the light.
The line “The night is long and slippery.” is from a Lynn Emanuel’s poem “Homage to George Herriman from her book Noose and Hook.