JULY 30, 1997
+ i = n = k
On the Anniversary of His
Death the Men of the Village
Meet to Talk about
The way he was sewn together
made their skin feel so smooth.
His green-cheese complexion
and stupid haircut made them
look attractive and fashionable.
They didn't have to borrow
some stiff's heart. And they
had real souls, too, not just
fistfuls of bad weather.
Hey, remember the torches
and clubs? Remember running
around half-nuts all night?
And then it was so great to come
home: a bubbling tureen of soup,
wolfbane on the mantle, garlic
over the door, those grateful wives
who never looked as good before
The Strain of it All
Drives Bambi Mad
He imagines himself in black leather.
He wants to need a shave and smoke
straights while a tough-looking doll
rubs his antlers.
But the gun in the cabinet shoots only
marshmallows, while kitchen knives
are really woodpeckers who duck
and grin when Bambi tries to stab himself.
He takes off running, Walt's name
in vain stuck in his throat. He flees
across picturesque streams, up lovely
peaks. He runs for hours and never
gets away from primary colors.
He is so tired he could puke, but when
he does, the daisies only smile and put
their petals over their eyes, embarrassed
to be so close to everybody's darling.
-- Ron Koertge
interviewed by Amy Halloran
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