Riffing on Blues for a Narwhal, I come browsing The Goodwill Store in the Year of Our Lord '22; Trying on footwear worn by a soul who passed. Flagging chifforobes full of dead men's clothes, The flickering light is winking, nothing can last. For narwhals, propeller noises make life rough And hard to hear. It dulls their joyous carousing. Below the thrum of tankers a proverb is raised, A song no one hears, a shape that no one praised: The intricate grammar of narwhal, deepest diver Of all the whales. With his fabulous unicorn tusk At sounding depth, and above in starlight, at dusk He has to endure confusion on Blue Avenue: Guarding one kingdom below, or maybe two.
Comments
No posts