Artificial skeletons are hardly ever displayed
now in thought or in sight.
Shop windows are voided of all but surgical masks.
Imagine what all the uncut pumpkins
must think of the strange ones this year.
Halloween was the time of Ghede,
whose breath smelled of freshly turned earth
and was once caught soaping a skeptic’s window.The scariest thing I see are trogs knuckle
drag-racing from coast to flaming coast.
The poet said angels often don’t know when
they are among ghosts or the living.
At least TV makes me feel angelic
when my only contact with reality is
Jim, my Asperger neighbor
and Brit Hume.
This prayer-consuming peace feels
like the slow-motion before the crash:
those precious count-downs to what you,
and I, and all must taste.
In this precise facsimile of Krapp’s den,
I wander in a replay life and wonder
how I will know when I’m a ghost.
I’ll be sure to ask my calavera
when it’s empty.
_______________
This is the second of seven poems from my portfolio for the 2020 Poetry Workshop I participated in, under the direction of instructor Eli Burrell.
| Copyright © 2021 by Bob Boldt |
A knowing rendering of our current (and continuing?) reality!
ReplyDeleteI’m a bit sheepish in admitting that I had to look “calavera” up:
“A calavera [plural: calaveras] is a representation of a human skull. The term is most often applied to edible or decorative skulls made from either sugar or clay that are used in the Mexican celebration of the Day of the Dead and the Roman Catholic holiday All Souls' Day.” —Wikipedia
Too many great images--takes me back to the days we went to 47th and Honoree and celebrated the Day of the Dead!
ReplyDeleteMichael, clarification, please: “too many” as in “great, wonderful,” or “poem could be improved my removing some of the images”? (I am a pupil under your tutelage.)
DeleteYes, as in great and wonderful--as in provocative and thought inspiring.
DeleteThank you, master!
Delete