Friday, August 20, 2010

On my Mattress on the Floor
for D.B.A.

only you could hang up here
hang upside down or right-side-up
hang like a bat or like an acrobat

hang like clothes upon a line

like conch on a line to dry

like fruit upon a tree
all full, some ripe and ready to eat

not everybody- anybody
able to hang in the stratosphere
in this atmosphere, rarefied air

mountain to climb
to this moment we're in
to this place, this space
where poets make song
sing songs along with birds
calling, whistling

Rasta man going by on bicycle
"Good afternoon! Peanuts!
"Iri-nuts! Good afternoon!"

in the South of France, along the beach
"Cacahuètes!" is the call, is the cry
of the boys with peanuts
in great big bags
for customers to buy

short stout

this is no mouse overturning
pulling things apart
scattering things about

something out of place
I'm unable to identify

where I'd not have put it, placed it
indicates that the rats are back

another of the things
I must grapple with, wrestle with
here in this house, back on Kemp Road

poison for these angry hungry suckers
I as angry

whose house is it- mine or theirs
whose page is this- hers or theirs

how they upstage even in their absence
even when they're absent
mess they make, mess they leave

short stout
about my baby
about my sweetie
about her being short and stout
about her being a short stout
like a Milk Stout
Milk Stout instead of Guinness
as bitter as gall

short sweet stout
too sweet malt
she'd sip sometimes
to my annoyance

things she eats- she'd eat
and drink to my annoyance
challenge my love for her
my loving her
my being in love with her

oh the things in this life
increasing and decreasing us

I'd have poetry to leave when I am gone
and the rats will still be running about

short stout
love of my life
nibbling on bacon, chewin' on cheese
Sammy said to Susie
"Honey, would you please be my missus?"

is she my muskrat love
is this my muskrat love song

© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 12 noon,
Thursday, August 19 and
8:26 a.m., Friday,
August 20, 2010


Anonymous d.a. said...

Another masterpiece! I dont think I like you calling me stout though but everything else is certainly two thumbs up four six eight if I had em. Your first three and last three stanzas are so so so perfect I love em:- rare jewels I tell ya. I mussie gat more jewelry than the queen herself.

Friday, August 20, 2010 6:15:00 PM  
Blogger Obie Quiet said...

You are the queen herself, my darling!

Friday, August 20, 2010 8:03:00 PM  

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