Page 37 - Contrast1982Springv25

AT THIS MOMENT

Bored,
sitting on the toilet around 2 a.m. with my butt shuddering
for warmth, I crush a brown spider between the white wall
and a Newsweek; and I wonder, at this moment,
if brother Jonathon sits in bed writing greek letters
with Crayola crayons while sipping whiskey
and whistling slow, sweet, blues full of mirth
siphoned from his silent avant-garde mind of bop.

And for sure
brother Douglas Lyle, the man with the determination
of uncrushable ants, lies asleep with weary eyes soaking
in black letters of objective, legal terminology.

And brother Geoffrey,
a curly haired, bearded, inwardly calm, happy yelling hippy
of a man lies asleep too, no doubt; to rise at dawn
to milk apples and goats with children hugging his legs.

And I exist
watching a spider's leg jerk from its crushed shell
as it spins in the yellow whirlpool that slurps the pill
of waste down the white porcelain throat.

I wash my hands
the porcelain throat gurgles
I must sleep

David Burgess

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