Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Twenty-one Winter 2009 |
In the menagerie, in the mud Jacob Rakovan we are greeted by the rhinoceros, tapping horns over a mouthful of hay there is a branchless tree filled with tires and windchimes, a punching bag. Little birds hop in the stagnant water that fills their footprints the children mill around your feet, our boy peering out through a shark's mouth our girl teetering atop this newly borrowed body they face each other like railcars in collision, like stormclouds or sumo wrestlers in the mud leather behemoths, creaking, the delicate hair of their ears like pennants in the slightest breeze, the long hard slope of their foreheads bony as triceratops and you, and I, and our half healed scars walk together and the little birds sing at our feet |
About Jacob Rakovan |