All night I've watched the exertion
of a solitary grasshopper, deflating the kangaroo-paws
out by the back porch. With tenacious bruxism
his body is armor, a robotic bulwark
against this littered house of pain where
I barely see my father's eyes.
There he is, plodding, beyond the flowers,
their ronde-de-jambe stalks and flame-like leaves,
fingers striking his adding machine -- each number
a long division between us. So driven
is this grasshopper, I'm certain he must be
finding his true place -- where he can
worship an appalling beauty, live a life
within a life burning in skull-rags. All night
he's impaired the stems, defaced the fragile white flames.
|