Sam E. Robinson
blots
refreshing stink of thick green walnut hulls staining the hands
the beauty of slushy brown footprints
erasing blinding chaos
superimposed on dirty earth
tree sap
stuck to arm hairs
sitting on the back of the tractor
on the strawberry jam farm
watching rats get mangled and tossed into the bin
laughing at the label’s “all natural ingredients”
living always
one bullet away from knowing
never afraid to embark
until my son was born
i must teach him
it will be ok to hate me when i die
sometimes that is the way men heal
never losing the innate marvel of helicopter maples
of yellow dandelions and lightning bugs smeared on cheeks
penguins
the penguins are happy
waddling around
invisible strings lifting little flappy arms
tending each other with grooming pecks
waiting to eat little fishes
the penguins are angry
squirting streams of steaming feces
at the intrusive photographer
the penguins are afraid
those phantom shapes
looming beneath the surface
. . .
leetle penguins not be birds
leetle penguins not be fishes
tiny creatures on the surface
come and be sea lion dishes
hally hoo and yum yum blubbers
leetle morsels not have fright
closer
ever closer
to barking mouth delight
Previous Midwestern Writer Midwestern Writer Index Next Midwestern Writer