If I Only Had a Brain
~Scott Poole
I don't know if this is a cure
for feeling dumb
but I decided to grow some corn
rows of it in my garage.
I dug up the floor, hung
special light and put in a tape
of crickets.
I painted the ceiling black
and stuck it with fluorescent stars.
Then I would lie between
the rows dreaming of Kansas
and for some reason feel smart.
Then the cricket tape turned over
to the whale side and when
I heard those deep ocean musings
I felt a bit dumb at first, under
all that moaning grace.
But then I thought
whales might dream of corn
and that made me feel smart and outrageously happy.
For hours I opened and closed
the garage door believing I was
behind the eye of a great intelligent beast.
Scott Poole poetry:
spocom.com
I really like
The Ex-Porn Star Retirement Center
and
Armadillo:
She is wearing a silk blouse
and a tie, and earrings
and she is naked from the waist down
holding her underwear in front of her when suddenly, she sees a tag
that reads Armadillo.
Why did she not notice
this under the cellophane at the store,
before the clerk shoved her purchase into a bag and said "Is that all?"
and why did she not understand
the nervous man who rang up her lunch wrong three times
said sorry six, and how the hot beef soup
filmed over like her husband’s face when he refused love
and stared at nothing, impenetrable
in a silence that nearly killed her. It gathers her into clarity
like whiteness, like underwear and long-nailed fingers, like freedom before
dressing. She knows what Armadillo means:
little armored one.
and this one toooo:
Now That I'm Done
~Scott Poole
I'll take a shower. No, I'll take a shower outside
in the leaves. I'll take a shower among the leaves
with three naked women. In a thunderstorm. Yes,
I'll take a shower with warm water and cold
water and the leaves steaming around four
naked bodies. I'll watch. I'll watch the three
nymphs bathe in a raging ancient forest under
a hot-springs waterfall. Then I'll join them
with coconut milk.
Wait, I'll take a shower in warm coconut milk with
one woman and some lightning and a waterfall
to watch in the distance. We could have our clothes
on, wait for them to soak through with coconut
milk, then rip them off in a crack of thunder.
There will be drums and parrots. There will be
drums and eagles. There will be a string quartet and
screeching osprey. There will be nightingales
and a small acoustic combo. There will be Robert
Bly reading my poems, drunk on coconut milk,
declaring me a genius, while a screeching raptor
pecks out his entrails. I'll take a shower with
milk and a nimble nymph under a waterfall at all
times of the day and people will pay money to see
it. The monks will join and throw rose petals.
I'll take a shower with a coconut covered nymph
and a choir of Krishnas to the music of the New
Criterion Banjo Orchestra. The whole populous of
Toronto will take a shower with the whole populous of
Buffalo in Niagara Falls and I and the nymph will
watch from a leaf covered cliff drinking coconut
milk from a cistern in the shape of Robert Bly's
head, while the screeching eagle will become the
symbol for international peace and harmony.
No, I'll take a bath.
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