April 10th poem

Thursday, April 10, 2014

(collaborative poem with Todd Colby; revised today)
Track 28, 2:45 pm
The instruction manual was etched in glass,
and made a sound like a mouse or a dreaming
woman making small squeaks in her sleep
when you ran a fingernail over her parent's teeth.
Her parents adored her and it showed 
in their well-faded jeans and moisturized palms.
They all smelled of coconut oil and sandalwood, 
as per the instructions.  As per their understanding,
suffice it to say chemistry textbooks have many
excellent images for making collages, which is
why she failed the class but won at compiling 
spray adhesives.  All the while, this mystical
being was ensconced in a wondrous world called
"what New York had become." Which is why I am
a principal in Atlanta. During recess the dogwoods
did sway in the wind.  They did sway and I did
sway.  Thank you for coming in this afternoon,
Mr. and Mrs.  Buncombe.  I sorely appreciate
your children and your pie. There will be a day
when you forget my name, but I'll be dead by then.

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