Oh So Sad and Clever Boy
I.
I’m not very smart, so for you
I have to be clever,
I can be a dolphin clapping in the surf,
You play coy and feed me pregnant tuna
Barefoot in the amber sands;
Up to your exposed knees-
A whole bucketful will slow me down,
And distinguish a gunmetal sleuth in the sunset.
I can be a boy again mind numbed on vodka;
I can set off a quarter stick of dynamite in the
Ruby courtyard, crack open the geode,
and draw your attention,
Smile bare-chested and pick a wild pomegranate,
Juxtapose it near the stigmata of my navel
Or I can play checkers on the green geometry of
Suburbia,
Listening to the sweep of waves like
The alluring static of a coming radio;
but not very well,
Distracted by where you might be molting on a sprig;
Roller-skating over the bones or privateers,
The metal patina of bad conquistadors
And with the canary go down into the mines
For subtle tests of subtraction;
And I’ll see you in the halls and wish you to quiz me,
Wish you to fall across me like a masked ball,
To flutter peacock feathers over your exposed teeth,
Pretending to be genteel while flaunting
A powdered bosom
Or I can hang around the parked cars again,
Any drunken afternoon and
Wait for your smell to waif with sunset, or the cerulean
Bleed of students to homes again:
Restless on Sundays,
I can pretend to see you go,
And begin the tramp of scars- Which I’ve
Been on now, Oh, so long I guess;
Whistling in jest of my own troubles, skipping
Like a Yankee-doodled over the skulls set there to
Trip me,
Or time travel to pick you up from the stink of knightly armpits
In the feral courtyards of Camelot
[...] Read more
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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