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Ode to Farts
Olfactory—
ey, bee, see…
Catching them in the air
with playful hands
before freeing my loudest giggle:
the odor of magic,
the end of ripe summer mangoes,
my childhood now distant.
Olfactory—
ey, bee, see…
Catching them in the air
with playful hands
before freeing my loudest giggle:
the odor of magic,
the end of ripe summer mangoes,
my childhood now distant.
Auditory—
do, re, mi…
Almost Bach to my ears
when alone to suffer
all cruelties of the late afternoon:
the cacophony of quiet,
the faint shadows of strange faces,
the graying gloss of solitude.
do, re, mi…
Almost Bach to my ears
when alone to suffer
all cruelties of the late afternoon:
the cacophony of quiet,
the faint shadows of strange faces,
the graying gloss of solitude.
Memory—
one, two, three…
As if right before the taking
of black and whites,
the vividness of the last warning:
the staring of the gun,
the clock stopping all of a sudden,
the last noise before silence.
one, two, three…
As if right before the taking
of black and whites,
the vividness of the last warning:
the staring of the gun,
the clock stopping all of a sudden,
the last noise before silence.
