Sunday, February 5, 2012

the brothers

chromosomes—(cement), those genes bring shades
of (similar) smiles, (alliteratively accurate) prose;
biologically locked to the (intransigent) double helix.

the 61st street backdrop (weeping in willows, the mimosas,
all those kids— pealing laughter and thunder.) that horizon
a part of their connective tissue -- stunning sun (tar babies).

"Old Rip" (legs at a half-gallop) barking her candied joy.
(that happy dog— loved by kids as a friend) the fire ants filing along
highways of sand and (into) the eyes of dead lizards.
smell of cakes, barbecues, moms, February chill.

who knew one of them (one of the bedazzled boys)
would explore Pluto in the flesh? —bearing word amulets; the talisman
to impress no one (it is only poetry)—
and on this hygienic tableau there is life's grist.

they had known for months this day would come,
a fact so apparent as the nut-brown carpet (dun).
the haze of absolute precision (a gestation period);
circularity being the perfect pattern. O time.

it repeats and repeats— and yet this circumstance
would rip the fabric of their time— the baby is born today.
Dad is coming home to tell them all about it.