Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Tiger

My son the cartoon man, elf,
doll, funny hot bear cub in
blanket sleeper, but truly
Tiger,
shakes milk from sippy
cup into the sand, bangs pans,
takes kamikaze trike rides,
waddles death-unaware up
and down slick steps and stairs,
throws sand in my face, says
uh-oh, comes to me
growling, with the drippy milk,
drips it deliberately on me.
Tiger never stops
pacing, prowling,
and our home and
my mind
become tangled
jungles half harvested
to build someone's idea of the world.

If Tiger could still
himself, the picture
would stun you--
wet California eden,
fruit trees snowing petals
upon us in a yard full
of petals, and look at
the angel in his raincoat,
yellow, radiant, broiling,
rainbow-making
sun.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home