Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Twenty Summer 2009 |
A Tiger Lurks in the Night Forest Louis Daniel Brodsky This Christmas, even icicles, Like lampreys riding a tiger shark's belly, Fastened to the base of his frozen heart, Don't drip. Their glistening, irregular shapes Are truth's saber-toothed-tiger teeth Jutting from his imagination's gaping jaws, snarling face, Threatening to consume the entire universe Within reach of his reflexes' awesome claws. Those of us nearest him, old friends, Divorced wife, grown children, Former business associates, know better, Won't risk rousing the drowsing beast in him, Especially during this hysterical season. Whether it's high noon or edging toward twilight, We avoid all shortcuts through the forest, Choose the perimeter road home. Even when we're safely abed, we know he's roaming, stalking, Gnawing his next unsuspecting victim With deathless precision. It's those icicle teeth That descend and penetrate prey Like the Penal Colony's needle-bed contraption. Thank God some few of us have survived To issue this admonition: Beware, this Christmas, Of anyone fitting his description; his kiss is fatal! |
About Louis Daniel Brodsky |