for yam sir: elevated blues
|This poem is from a longer work, written in dedication to Abraham Smith's canine companion, Rodney.|
probably the heat in the bama walMART parkin lot curls the edges of the masking taped penciled on a half crapped crate baby RODNEY stretchy snow legs and sweet potato continent blotches down his back LOST aka abandoned as the hoarder's drawers of one rub off 'em or three hotel motel soaps quiet lost sweeeeet consonance that he was what i am saying abused a u e less not sure if the colorless dust of town on a town BOOT or iff red clay heavy cough on the wheel wells of a grrr TRUCK man fat he does not love maybe asleep when he goes WahOOF it's a buffet style he's in the aisles snake-biting every gristle yawner high on Dew very un-berry slapper of the back of a kid's head i know at WALfart he would drop every awful eater of a kid's toy dream if he COULD nice though this snow grandma she's old but she does not complain in her head she's young she's agreed to blow up the birthday balloons in this pic rodney is balloon being lung prized by new old grandma snow who has seen it all but has grace not class lives days in a day ooh surprised and weeeeeeeee WE agree he's cloud weave with winter brush brown with that sense of sweet rush and sweet sleep happy yes dropping pumpkins on the seine maybe any river nothing ever HURT or broken again YAM is irked by hawks so vanilla tapioca plus yam equals HAWKS no no? like little spat wrecked broke ladders up there on sky he does that liberator quIxote of that hawk squid on high angel net sounder? protector of the fair soft prawn field mouse or say purgatory worrier warrior I just know THEY never not even into the punky pines skate or sink when HE is bounding hey he's ablution quencher he's piggy WALmm biterrr mr presh mr ipod rod mr rodeo mr yam man mr roodle strudel mr dip thee in the pond and try and drink while you swim cack cack hey he's coughing he got a little pond in his lung he's fine yam yond spondee lap sun yeep yeep and woof woo whoa uhoh buzzard you too best go tilt tilt over some other open country and CAME THE tornado like a thumbprint of a nobody dream of weird wolf water water left laying in a U of a pipe how it'll weird fast with fasted black grey and CAME The tornado bad water thumbprint checking the melon's coats to this revolving numberless anti-perfume keen windows bursted SEEDS of glass if you went to planting pane crap how many lost pet grow out of that fire ant dirt how many wind thrown collars jingle in the pines like the bone in bum coin he's a bathtub fellar in thunder he's a nervous mervis in a storm he's an under bed hider he's learning today to gradual gradually graduate back out light from under bed tho every dog does need a den some close space to do the deepest dreaming in maybe his grandpapa was a hammock full of the farthest thing from schemes maybe the cloudy brushy two he lunged from wore a bed shape maybe the beds up there in high light never did squeak maybe if they did peep spring cry out it was the peat of a pert chipmunk hiving in a dust hole or a bluecoat angel squirrel roD will adjust your back for you tugging the leash in shocked joy atonal squeal astonish as the newness of a smaller runner brings him back to wonderful here's a happy to run towards not away is to smile of brush and of snow here's round blotty pine he's turned his cinnamon back on so you know don't we? on every sappy sticky limb sinks a hawk mouse beak unmoused and i quote damn yam cop grrr the hawk collective leaving a little purple grr burp out into the light the walmarts turn toadstools toads are dining on with a lobster bib eructated of toadstools oho they are eating themselves oho the sky for once uncast in wing love you Roodle let's go tin- tern that abbey walk it reel rite ripe rise rolling 'gain
Abraham Smith's dog, Rodney
Copyright © 2011 by Abraham Smith. Poem and image used by permission of the author.
Abraham Smith is the author of Hank (Action Books, 2010) and Only Jesus Could Icefish in Summer (Action Books, 2014). He teaches at University of Alabama and shares his time between Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and Ladysmith, Wisconsin.
Date Published: 2011-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/yam-sir-elevated-blues