Where l attempt to write a poem a day in celebration (or is it degradation?) of National Poetry Month.
by Christa Forster, April 1, 2009
Who doesn’t love a river, dark
And deep, the sights unseen
Along its shores – eyeless Oed,
His punctured queen and mother,
And other dead celebrities
Like these? Sure it’s stuffy
Underneath the earth, hard
To breathe and difficult to walk,
Too. Throngs of endless sinners
Seek relief – they all want you.
The river’s got its own roots,
But unlike trees, its roots resemble
Fangs, or tendrils of disease.
Tubers tumor in the current,
Tunneling into traffic jams
Near the raw maw of infernal
Pangs, a heart-like mouth, full
Of fire and despair. O wonder
You’re above it. Look, a dam!
Perk up. And comb your hair.