From the V,
each pelican searches for its reflection
in the banal
squiggle, traffic at 5PM— and so many mirrors, prospects—
Mother, you did test,
for your one and only son, silver fishies in the curl
of wave.
Each leaf of the fruit tree twiddles,
independent (insert line from another
poem about sunlight and a tree, search
for Milton, he might
have a closer connection to God). Drive-thru
window you open
offering fries with that. Thanks for the ketchup,
you’re beautiful: contrasting with colors
from the soda machine.
Syzygy—burger, fries, and a Coke.
Discountpolis, around you, I labor, counting
my loose change
and keeping spaces tidy, waiting.
Unaware of the gaff— put on your blinker;
watch the yellow curb curl up into the mass of the parking
lot. “May I take your—”
thoughts will never escape
in the open air. Wait your turn,
cordoned off and buckled in.
Tree: sign: bush: radio:
steering wheel: fry oil: carbon
dioxide: mirror: food.
A stash of condiments decay quietly
in the glove compartment (mostly
mayo and bit of pickled
relish, masochistic).
Routinepolis, like a dinosaur
I can’t spell the name of.
Anotherdaypolis—
open late, the fry cook
might open the door for similes.
“SPOCK: Captain, I'm not at all certain we did the correct thing on Gamma Trianguli Six.
MCCOY: We put those people back on a normal course of social evolution. I see nothing wrong in that.
KIRK: Well, that's a good object lesson, Mister Spock. It's an example of what can happen when a machine becomes too efficient, does too much work for you.
SPOCK: Captain, you are aware of the biblical story of Genesis.
KIRK: Yes, of course I'm aware of it. Adam and Eve tasted the apple and as a result were driven out of paradise.
SPOCK: Precisely, Captain, and in a manner of speaking, we have given the people of Vaal the apple, the knowledge of good and evil if you will, as a result of which they too have been driven out of paradise.
KIRK: Doctor, do I understand him correctly? Are you casting me in the role of Satan?
SPOCK: Not at all, Captain.” [i]
[i] “The Apple,” Star Trek, 1968. CBS
I nod. I can’t see; her face;
iambic pentameter creates a thicket—
beats bounce in the adjacent car,
trying to spell me something.
Quack, quack say the Muscovy ducks.
Anotheryearpolis—
female voice, I lean in to order: syzygy—
-burger
-fries
-coke
+ -apple (nope).
I ripple away--left turn at EXIT:
a little gnaw on the straw, its accordian bridge
a nudge in the wash of next times
a lone individual with a empty bags
greased by self-empathy.
Time to eat.
Combo after combo, my feathers taper off,
nametags, plastic bags
catch wafts of grease in Alonepolis—
saturated, the street is a tire, revolutions
tread a path to the speaker box.
Can I get an apple core for 99 cents?
Can I get an apple core for 89 cents?
Can I get an apple core for 59 cents?
Can I get an apple core for 39 cents?
Can I get an apple core for 29 cents?
Can I get an apple core for 09 cents?
a leftover appleseed, shiny and dark?
PS:
I found her outside the narrow
window; we drank Hokkaido milk
on the first date, no Pickachu,
sitting aside a food truck, the parking
lot for a hotel once a hospital.
two disparate languages gurgled
into one froth.
Is this a constellation?
Synchronicity?
A pulsating rebirth?
Damn, this is dramatic.
Make sure to check your seed phrase and never give away your keys.