Wednesday, June 13, 2007

A Career in Baiting Judges

A precious artichoke has a heart like a beggar’s
Trampoline. See how it silhouettes,

See its name in print across the chalk line
Of the flywheel. Your birthday was ordained

With a spray of gnats, and you toasted “life”
And “mystery” with your flute of water.

I came to celebrate, but I was years late,
And besides, I have no hands. I cannot change

My bandages. I just lie on this trampoline
While beggars jump for artichoke hearts.

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