Thursday, July 28, 2011

Lumps of Coal

After a blinding day of birds calling
whose names I will never know,
and trees dropping noisome
sap in the curdling street --
a night less oppressive.

I wish for a cauldron
to cook all the fat out of me,
to leave me slender, interesting, pale:
to render me into a storybook likely lad.

I am
genial, jolly, kindly, sexless, droll:
red faced, puffy and plump.
Still under my red velvet and white fur trim
there are odd ferocities and hungers.
Don't cross me too often or too much,
or you may see an old darkness
come into my eyes. I may not be dangerous
but I am not quite safe.

At night I take my lumps of coal
and fling them one by one at streetlights,
hitting aluminum crossbars
with a high and chilling ping,
the frosted glass
with a muffled chink. Wicked boys
and girls, here's what you get tonight,
here's your real reward: old fingers
smeared with soot, and a tongue
black with licking.

5 comments:

Natalie d'Arbeloff said...

Terrific! I heard the ping and chink!

carolee said...

such a different voice for you, most of the way. i love this section:

Don't cross me too often or too much,
or you may see an old darkness
come into my eyes. I may not be dangerous
but I am not quite safe.

Jayne said...

Oh, irascible, irreverent and fun! Flinging lumps of coal at streetlights... wickedly delicious. ;)

marly youmans said...

Eep! I knew he wasn't safe! He made me throw away my blankie, and he enjoyed it, too...

Anne said...

I started to write a comment on this poem a couple of days ago and then deleted it because I decided it was a boring comment. Not at all intellectual. So here's the gist of it:

Just want to say, I loved this poem. It made me laugh out loud!