Untitled

On my back on the carpet, post-yoga, contemplating
That I should not have forgotten that my last use
Of that DVD was three months ago
Breathing as per the instructions and staring
Up into the limbs of the Norfolk pine
In a pot high enough on the shelves by the window
To almost reach the ceiling...it's like a real tree
My brain is happy to note...breathe...breathe...
Three months? Not that long ago, really
And I made it through the entire DVD
At least I held whatever poses I could manage
Throughout and I'm floating on a sheen
And that pine..is really dusty...and...

It's like a puppeteer from behind the curtain
Gives it lips, eyes, the shape of a dragon's head
And it speaks.

Go to the road and walk the road
Until you find a shop that sells my teeth
And buy them and bring them
And them in my mouth that I may eat
For I tired of that squirrel on the fence

We're both tired of the squirrel
Which sets the dogs barking and they're...eh...
Hundreds of other squirrels (probably) in the trees
Where the houses give ways to a weedy forest...
I'm still breathing deep breaths per the DVD
Which is still playing music that might,
If one retrogrades it with a certain suburban tint
Be considered fay...if you imagine a bored elf
Telling her aesthetician how heritage is too quaint
But it's fun to shop Under the Hill in the summer
When all the festivals are put on for the tourists.

Then the Norfolk pine growls
Which is not a thing I thought dragons did.

And so I get up and put on socks and sneakers
Because I think (maybe) the squirrel's out there now
And the dogs don't notice because they're hiding
In the bedroom because there's a dragon in here
With me (thanks guys) and if I scare away the squirrel
I can just pretend yoga puts me to sleep.

The backdoor, though, opens onto a highway.
Right through our lawn and weeds and the neighbor's
Ill-kept crepe myrtles and lawn all the way
To a town that never existed on the other side
Of the neighborhood. So I go.

I walk down the road and it's cool and wide
And it never smells of asphalt because the weeds
Are lush and I find the shop in that town although
I didn't bring my wallet...instead, we barter
For sunflowers, bluebonnets, black-eyed Susans and mallows
Which I pick until my hands are green and sticky
And my shirt is a seedbed and I exchange them for teeth.

I walk back uphill with my bag, toward a fence
In the distance bordered by those mourning myrtles
When there's a buzz and a voice says "Hey, buddy"
And a giant yellow jacket comes up and tells me
He's heard of giants rampaging through the pollen fields
And he hates to ask but would that be me?
With my shirt full of seeds and my hands sticking to the bag...
Because he's willing--flipping up some kind of seed badge--
To let it go with a warning and I'm naive enough
To think he means verbal.

Which is why I'm standing here watching a dragon
Stare at me from the squirrel's favorite ledge
On the back fence while my left bicep
Throbs a venomous tattoo of a yellow-jacket
With biceps and a glare guarding a sunflower
While the dogs bark furiously at the dragon
From behind my calves.

Meanwhile, the DVD is telling us all
To breathe.

Posting at both Poets United and The Sunday Muse. And there is no excuse for the length and ridiculosity of the above...let's just remember to breathe. And...breathe.

-- Chrissa