When Flowers Were I n Bloom

When Flowers Were I n Bloom

Sunday

O Little Rooster, O Little Cock











O little rooster,
O little cock,
your broken song makes me weep.
How forlorn or gravely ill you must be.
A mob of black doves wreck my skull
and an earthquake fractures my chest.


“He was a lousy lover,”
she says,
“He always made me cry.
He loved Bob Dylan,
the Counting Crows,
the Beats,
Cesar Vallejo,
writing poetry,
and he loved roosters.
I don’t get it.
We had nothing in common.
That piece of shit.
Why did I marry him?”

Her lover draws near.
His stomach presses against
the curve of her back.
“We should never have had any kids,”
she laments.
“He might have been a missionary
somewhere in South America
or a football coach in Texas
or some poor, penniless writer
living in the foothills of New Mexico;
and I might be living in Kentucky
a Baptist minister's wife
or living in a shack in Durango
a devout Catholic
or living in Pakistan
on a holy journey to Mecca.
What an ass he was.
I should never have married him.”
Her lover sighs
lost in dreams
of bhang fields
and young virgin girls.

Outside dogs bark,
and night slowly withdraws.
There is the clank of a cowbell,
and earth rustles.
In the distance,
the little rooster crows.
“Fucking little cock,” she cries.
“Why did I marry him.”

The moon pushes against the windowpane,
and its’ sovereign light undresses her.
She pulls the covers around her shoulders.
“He was a lousy lover,”
she says.
“We had nothing in common.
He loved Bob Dylan,
the Counting Crows,
the Beats,
Cesar Vallejo,
writing poetry,
and he loved roosters.
He always made me cry.
That piece of shit.”
An earthquake fractures her chest,
and a mob of black doves wreck her skull.

In the distance,
the little rooster crows.
“Fucking little cock,” she moans.
“We had nothing in common.”

2 comments:

  1. Oye, pinche poet.

    A mob of black doves wreck my skull.

    Nice work, this. The whole thing, I mean.

    I like it.

    Strong and lyrical and down to the ground.


    Good to read you, friend.



    yrs-

    tearful

    ReplyDelete
  2. estewolf11:56 PM

    What's up brother. Good to hear from you. I try to read our brothers & sisters from the sandlot. You and some of the others energize me so I travel cyberspace & visit here & there.

    Now that I know where jimbo lives, I'll be stopping by now & again to have a read. Hope to see you there friend. Maybe we can have a cup of coffee with the master & pick up a little inspiration.

    Peace & love brother,
    este.

    ReplyDelete