by Martin Espada
to be a unicorn
by sticking a plunger on your head
“friday friday friday. i’m getting fat again. too many slices of pizza, too much booze, too much texas indulgence. it gives me that loathsome little belly only i can see. and god knows i’d better not notice it out loud.” -kevynrayn aye-kay-aye kackattack.
i’m about 5-10 pounds more belly bump than i’d like to be, but god forbid i say something about it outloud to those around me. hello, new friend aka morning jogs and elliptical machine.
We contemplate a parade of skis,
boxes, bags, and attachés.
Some of them, unclaimed
the first time by, meander
all the way around and out,
dumb and colorful as cows.
A deaf woman watches
her husband talk in sign.
I cannot read his tongue
of wrist and fingertip
although there seems a sadness
and his hands fold finally
On his shoulders sits a little boy
whose hands, above the father’s head,
are making up a second story—
something, I think, about a plane.
“At the Airport Baggage Claim” by Charles Darling, from The Saints of Diminshed Capacity. © Second Wind Press, 2005
no office phone calls
a diet coke relapse (oops)
my jeans are still wet
(unexciting & uncreative, I know. but hey, it’s monday.)