Friday, July 16, 2004

Tiger Poem #2

From Michael Schiavo...

Blue Hay

Experts are puzzled by the farmer's wife --
At least that's what they want you to believe.

Instead of sleeping, they're wide awake, ourselves like
Ghost ships risen from the sea, aimed directly

At the bewildered muskateers
With their grotesque wit, sloppy from one arcade

To another, nothing too abstract, spelling
It all out lest they embarrass themselves

Or the tribe. Not that social organizations are overly
Important -- broad, old, glittering, they have their dignity

Under the sun, but to us are as beastly mice, exemplifying
What we most abhor. It's not just the land, either,

The water too is difficult to understand. And even
A house, which would seem to be a comprehensible

Structure, has given us tizzy to spew and break
Its untraceable windows and burn linen

In the same kettle we accidentally cooked
The parakeet when we meant the tiger.

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