Aach...ye speak like a poet, but ye punch like one too...

PUNCH LIKE A POET

Wednesday, June 28, 2006
  
Poem

Hot off the presses. Any bits where it's unclear or incoherent? And I'm still not sure about the ending; can't decide if it's too glowingly sentimental. Your opinions on all these questions are actively solicited.



MESQUITO

Though mesquite meaning the tree and mosquito
meaning the insect with an oil derrick for a nose
come out unrelated in the spelling, at least
in Abilene when we said them they matched,
sanded down to rough equivalence
by dialect: mesquito for the bug, little tree,
like abuelito for little abuelo, dear
grandfather in the Spanish overheard in kitchens
and convenience stores. Mesquito, tiny
buzzing mesquite, cursed and slapped
like the crooked, water-sucking trees that ranchers
swatted off their land with backhoes, a bite
like the three inch thorns I learned to avoid
when climbing the gnarled granddaddy
that hunched and creaked beside our trailer
as if forever climbing out of bed. Mesquito,
drag racing the circuit of the ears, whine
and whisper like wind through feathered leaves
in the highest branches. Mesquito, swarms
at dusk chasing us inside, air full of ruckus
and a softening light that graveled the driveway
with the thin shadows of trees growing
darker, darker, as the lights came on inside.

# posted by Daniel at 3:16 PM.