There is a statue of my grandfather in the park,
across the street from my apartment.
When I am drunk he looks quite angry.
When I am drunk he brandishes his gun at me.
This is why I have to get drunk only in the kitchen,
which has no windows overlooking the park.
I have, on occasion, come to an abrupt consciousness
standing in the park yelling obscene things at this statue.
This has never happened
with the version of my grandfather that is not made out of metal,
with the version that is made out of skin.
I have never yelled at that one.
Nor have I ever been arrested
for shooting at the fleshy version of my grandfather
with a riffle
from the rooftop of my apartment building.
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2 comments:
Were I you, I would concentrate on poetry. You're good at it, and it suits your attention span.
We need good poets.
Thank you, it's not necessarily an attention span problem but more a crisis of confidence in the long-form.
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