Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The Daffodils

I saw a man riding a scooter dragging a mattress along the highway.
I saw a boy on the sidewalk breathing smoke into a plastic bag.
I saw and old woman combing curls and staring in a window
I saw a young man in a surgical mask pushing an old man in a wheelchair.

I was stuck in traffic covered in green diarrhea with a screaming one year old in my lap.
My three-year-old turned to me and said, “Daddy, I don’t feel so good,” then projectile vomited in my face.
It was white and curdled and smelled like vanilla bile
Xi’an rolled her eyes.

Out the Window
I saw a man in robes swaying kung fu like a branch in the wind.
I saw a girl holding a poodle and chatting on a cell phone.
I saw a grandmother strolling beneath a flowered parasol.
I saw two men sitting on newspaper playing chess in the sunlight.

When we returned home
I heated up the spaghetti and meatballs I’d made that afternoon.
The green diarrhea and white vomit had soaked through my t-shirt and was caked in my hair.
I laid Kinu in the crib and threw her soaking diaper the garbage.
I sat at the kitchen table and read Wordsworth to my daughters.

That night after bed time I went for a lazy run.
I saw two men in a metal box lifted skyward by a crane.
I saw lovers in the dark crouching in the shadows.
I saw waltzers under street lights moving without music.
When I returned home, I laid down on the sofa and thought about clouds.

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