Sunday, October 21, 2012

His Speech in Broad Daylight

The crest of a hill, a coat of arms,  a wave.
All electricity must cease
All batteries are void.

The box raised me seven inches
above all others present.
My words were arranged
like written instruction.
Many there were reminded of the
exploded diagrams in model kits.
I asked everyone to hold their own faces.
Some were confused by this.
Others slapped themselves.
I felt the glass pitcher inside me tip.
I steadied the stream until
the lightness ebbed.
My voice was just below
the threshold of a scream.
I was baying in broad daylight.
The moon turned away.
And then like so much burnt cork
I was darkened , hidden away from myself,
from audience.
The plan for me was reduction, sidebar.
The species stood up and yawned.
In the distance I could hear
generators start up again.
Clouds disengaged,
batteries smiled at the sun.
My fall was less than a foot.


Kathleen said...

I think I have felt this, viscerally, recently. I keep reading this. I love the "exploded diagrams." I love the "glass pitcher" and its terrifying tipping. Oh, yes, "reduction, sidebar."

ron hardy said...

Thanks Kathy.
A sketch or doodle of frustration during the idles of October. Oh, and don't forget to lubricate your yard signs from vandals. Inside the politic is the erotic. Reversible?