On Decorative Cowboy Armadillos
by Adrienne Gilliam
I’m nothing like my wild counterpart
I don’t scurry, I don’t sniff, I don’t walk into traffic
I’m nothing like the ones stinking on the side of the road
a bouquet of flies lined up for mass, rubbing their hands in prayer
the vultures that come by to pay their respects, complain about the traffic getting there browsing and sampling from the gouges and scrapes, the funeral wake casseroles
I just watch
the passage of time, ticks by with the lengthening of limbs
the periods, the body hair, the domino fall of grandparents
my skin is stone, unchanging
I think I keep time for her as well
stagnant as I am
I’ve visited nightstands around the world
but always, I see her snoring into her pillow, hitting snooze
So really I’ve gone nowhere.
I exist only on the altar of treasured knick knacks
a precious purgatory
and one must assume I enjoy being treasured
Am I Sisyphus or am I the rock?
I feel I know the rock
having watched her all these years