This poem originally appeared in Juice.
To read it at its original home, go here:
Owl Who Laughs in Juice
For some sad reason, Juice seems to have stopped publishing, a tremendous loss to the poetry world.
A silver lining: The archives are still available (use the above link).
One neat thing about Juice, among many, is that in addition to wonderful editors (Judy L. Brekke and Stephen S. Morse), it had a "contributing shaman," Gene Fowler.
I bet no other lit zine has ever had someone boast the official title of "contributing shaman."
It's a little late, but I'd like to thank all the team at Juice for years of dedication to the world of poetry. I was very very honored to be in (what appears) the last issue, an annual for 2008.
Thanks for reading!
he flails in a nurturant sphere,
kicking every vein.
he escapes and waddles,
brays and cockadoodles,
until a sloppy word
slings off his tongue
into an aural bull’s-eye.
he mutates as he speaks,
sobbing then elated,
serene yet monstrous,
injected by pituitaries.
he brags and postures,
guns a chevy, fidgets against
the crux of a girl.
then life’s two parts suburb,
five parts chain.
stress and boredom take turns
grinding him against chores.
worries rush through
until he’s frazzled and grizzled,
a mellowed stump of cocky banana
whose peel once hummed.
he placates his grandchildren,
chortles when they say he’s great—-
when death and age are merely stains
on the stretching agenda
of his glory.