Pony Ride
At the emergency room,
trauma and tragedy slip in
and out of the door. Here
is a carousel of chances,
lifeline gliding and bobbing
in circles. Maybe we are all
clowns for even trying.
Sideshow oddities making
a mark under the great big top
of this cosmic joke. Applause
and lion’s roar, cannonballs
and dart-popped balloons.
We fill the quiet with
so much distraction.
More bodies continue
to remind this carnival room
of our fine fine flesh,
cotton candy tissues.
Every minute, pain.
Every minute, a wailing
that signals a soul
transcending the threshold.
And then a swift return
to speechlessness as if
in respect to mimes.
Sometimes peace
is a little pony ride
that comes to an end.
Wear This Shirt Inside Out
The ode to a t-shirt is but
an easy riddle: one way
to enter and three to exit.
You are good to go. Give in.
Here’s another one. Piles
in wardrobes and drawers
looking like sad dry lips, folds
mouthing the ancient plea,
Touch me, feel me, hold me…
At the mall we reach for the sale rack.
Fifty percent off. Another for eighty.
Add to cart. Proceed to check out.
Repeat a few weeks later.
Worries go well with the latest
trend. This new skin feels great
until we shed it off revealing
skeletons we have long adorned
with bags, necklaces,
bracelets, earrings, bands
and tattoos, all perfumed
with the smell of crisp ATM cash.
Here’s a phone on credit
to remind us of the world’s next
expiry date. The clerk behind
the counter could only offer a smile.
In our small island province,
another mall grows and
another tree surrenders.
In the last thicket of Calcetta,
we remedy getting lost
by removing our shirts
and wearing them inside out,
to summon a trail before us
and lead us back to home safe
like deliverance. Revelations
via reversals. For some of us
there is no saving from all this,
no matter the times we wear
the shirt inside out. This is
our riddle we refuse to crack.