the flim-flammer jumped in the flivver
and faded (leaving only the moonlight)
the heart grows hard hiding behind
the eight-ball. i remember you
the canary of first light. treading
the dust-weary streets in my chicago overcoat,
i think only of long nights and the salt
of dry bread. duck soup i'm not.
counting and re-counting getaway sticks
i come up short. have the bees
mumbled their secret yet? stale honey,
cold java, in the aging hours.
like the dying fish, the blue lunger
on the beach at mazuma, staring up at us,
gasping for -- up the shore the party-happy
nippers oblivious with their gaudy balls
and sand buckets. and now a pile
of gray days bleak as orphan papers.
late at night, somewhere out the window
the last ringers stumbling home
snap a cap and break up laughing,
loud, sloppy-armed, vigorish as the living.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
the flim-flammer jumped in the flivver and faded (leaving only the moonlight) // Lyle Daggett
Decided to do another one of these, go in a different direction with it.
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2 comments:
I like this one better, Lyle. Not that my opinion matters all that much, but the chronology flows smoothly, poetically, and ends with enough sentiment that it touches the emotions without being sappy. I like it.
:) nancy
Thanks, Nancy. The fact is, I'm not greatly satisfied with either of the poems myself -- the list of "required" words and the title are fairly far from the range of language I usually gravitate toward. But it was interesting playing with the words, just as an exercise. It's obviously important sometimes to wander onto unfamiliar ground. Life can be like that.
I appreciate your comments.
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