Today's poem is by Matthew Burgess

Morning Poem

The ocelot's descent is so slow-mo I can see its
                skeleton gyrating in preparation
for a padded four-foot landing. Bravo.
                My glee over its not having splatted
cut short by black leather boots. Am I
                in trouble? Do I want to be
in trouble? Taut uniform and hulking physique
                strikes even the dreaming me
as laughably Tom of Finland but when
                the visor flips he's suddenly
Yoko Ono. Awake thinking Why Yoko? Inbox:
                Dear Professor, I am too upset
to speak to you in person. You hurt my feelings
                after class when you told me that
I give off nervous energy. Please explain why
                you feel this way? Very hurt,
Tzivi Silver. Dear Tzivi, Please accept my apologies.
                I am very sorry to have hurt
your feelings. I appreciate your determination
                but you seem to be quite frantic
about the assignment. I meant to express concern,
                not criticism. Dear Professor,
Thank you for your apology. All I wanted to do
                was show my enthusiasm.
I have three little children at home, two of whom
                receive therapy. Maybe I emanate
worried vibes because of that. Please be aware
                for the future that I am very sensitive
to negative comments. Sincerely, Tzivi Silver.
                This and then the radio says
virtually all baby albatrosses fly around
                with plastic in their bellies.
I walk out into the drizzle. Titles of books
                on a neighbor's stoop:
                        Death Is Now My Neighbor
                        Upon the Head o f a Goat
                        Listen for the Whisperer
                        Drama in Our Time

                                                        and the stroller-
pushing nanny with a gold front tooth thinks
                I'm bananas. Why is there never a Hart
Crane Collected? Plumes of shawarma waft from
                the Grecian Corner: three boxes
of jalapenos dollied from a semi by a St. Nick
                lookalike as I slip in. Over French
toast Kevin confesses his soft spot for leather
                daddies and Vanessa says if you
space out the background chatter sounds like
                "Asi blah blah za za za."

Copyright © 2014 Matthew Burgess All rights reserved
from Court Green
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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