the osprey flys overhead, but the baby rabbit trembles not

~for any grandparent-poet lurking about~


the osprey overflies, a regularity scheduled patrol over
our backyard emporium and all its hors d’oeuvre creatures,
he/she has parental responsibilities, beaks to feed, PTA conferences,
the pilot, a wary watchful animal-his-rights guy, catalogues their still living  existentialism, for though they are not fish, his diet of preference, but in a pinch a rodent  or rabbit stew will do, if the fish are running too deep for no warming sun beckoning them to the surface.

Motel^ the baby rabbit, who lives with his parents,
(who doesn’t these days?) beneath the deck,
chews the clover overnight sprung, blissfully i g n o r a n t,
unawares or ignoring the poet be-laureating (him-her) but a mere
few feet above and away, pays no attention to the Poppy’s (grandfather) lecture about the rules of the animal kingdom,
who, eats whom, and to be more attentive to flying raptors.

thunderstorms forecast for the afternoon, severe say
the textured textual phone-netical all green messages, which
of course is a signal signal to the sun his job is done and can
leave the untanned poet in his state of original sin, soooo deliciously
white that he earns an appraising glance from eyes of the osprey,
a privilege he would happily tan away to promote equality ‘n stuff like peace on earth.

Motel, with his thermometer-humidity nasal instrumentation twitcher, decides, after chewing it over most carefully, time to go underneath where the white half naked people domicile, in order to avoid bathing, not his fav pastime, but making the osprey quitter le ciel, which is French for get out of Dodge, they got babies of their own to shelter and protect, even feed.

The Poppy, contented, thinks to himself, god couldn’t be everywhere,
so he invented grandpas to be “En Loco Parentis”  which
Does Not Mean Instead of Crazy Parents,
but easily could,
for who else writes
poems like this?

perroquet avenue lips
poems and polaroids
pornitography
hariness
protected by vickies
cleavite libertinism
third base
strobe-lit memories

slang..
perroquet = a delicious, minty French alcoholic drink
avenue = a shade of deeply red lipstick
vickies = victoria's secrets
cleavite = untanned areas usually covered by a bathing suit, and thus pale
third base = come ON, everyone knows

Dear Cristina
my friend Cristina
The wisp of March wind
could not have come sooner
I just walked down the road
in the purple hour
through an unearthly tropical mist
that swirled around my body
like the ocean swirls around a dancing mermaid
like the snow that encircles your body in a snowstorm
like floating on the enchanting breeze of a love song
I don't go to bed until dawn these days
when the earth is blue and sad
and echoes the emptiness of the desert with no stars
it makes me happy
it makes a strange sensation overcome my cheeks
as my teeth are exposed to the air
and my mouth stretches
into a smile
it feels a bit like pain
but it's not pain
and it feels a bit like acting
except it's real
a smile from the dawn of man
a caveman monkey smile of vague origin and strange ceremony
a smile that might disturb and perplex
even closest friends
but it is not my intention to frighten
so it's for the best that I am mostly in solitude
and that the few remaining friends I had
are all gone now
I bounce around from place to place
5 places in 5 months
I'd forgotten what it was like not to have a home
it's nice
I was spoiled
but I can tell you for a fact
I know
I am alive now
no questions asked
no doubts
I'm sitting in a ramshackle old beach house that's haunted
with a ghost made of mold
surrounded by a clutter of bizarre and beautiful paraphernalia
dusty antiques that haven't been touched in years
and little statues in corners hidden by five hundred green plants
dinosaur plants
here and there my clothes scattered about
my open suitcases in a corner
my new acid wash jeans bunched up on the floor
The kind you've been searching for
for a year now
I spent my last 5 bucks on them yesterday
I haven't much in the fridge this week
so I eat potatoes
I'm still on Steinbeck's "Cup of Gold"
sipping it slowly like a fine wine
the March break kids are in town this week
shooting off firecrackers outside my window
and stealing all the cool sweaters at Goodwill
We should go to Paris
on our way to India this fall
we're gonna paint that town
literally
until then
read some books
and go to the movies at night
and when you put on your first shorts
with still-prickly untanned winter legs
think of me

My time is not meant for those who pretend to know me because they have seen an untanned patch of my skin
Do not etch me into your wooden bedpost as another tamed *****

Titles are not awarded for time served
and ***** licked in fits of feverish lust
Not your girlfriend barely a friend
Do you even remember why I was crying last august?

As I sit here thinking about how time has passed
Wondering how it all happened so fast
We were both NRI's who shared the same last name
Bonded over various silly little games
Never really thought anything much of it
And from there we became closely knit

Wherever you would go, you would see the Sharma bros
We shared our excitement and our woes
Complained about school, talked about Minecraft ideas
We reminisced over the US, and now it's time to see ya
I'm not really sure how I'll say goodbye
I'm not sure how our friendship happened or why
But I know I'll really miss you when you leave
Your absence was a thought I never concieved

Minecraft, Angry Birds Go, Bad Piggies, oh them all
They just won't feel the same when you're gone
I still remember our hopes of becoming internet sensations
Our endless talks on how to achieve our aspirations
Moving to India was hard, but we shared this difficulty together
Like two brave Steves fighting off the wither

I remember our first sleepover; it was a new experience for you and me
Getting to know you better and cutting down oak trees
We talked through the night about anything and everything
Addictively competing to see who was recieving the lowest ping
I had been alone in the US, never really found someone quite like me
You turned out to be so similar, sometimes I think we share a family tree

We always talked about going back to the US and how it was so much better there
And now when we are both returning back to our old homes, why does life seem unfair
We lamented about what all we gave up when we left the US
But never talked about what all we gained by reaching this address
They say you only realize the value of something when you lose it
I have Skype to play with you, but alone I will sit

We often play online, but there is a value to your presence
Even while we enjoy ourselves, I will lose your essence
I hope that you have a safe flight and journey
And will definitely come and meet you some time personally
I hope our stars align
We shall meet at least one more time
But for now, my dear friend Rohan, I shall say goodbye

If there is ever any problem, remember that I will be there to pacify
Be sure to send me a picture of your untanned hands building a snowman
We shall surely make some more memories and have something planned

There you go again, digging around
in the fly-covered entrails, looking
for the undigested piece of gristle
your mother forgot to cut off your steak
when you were 6.  All the while
the untanned hide sits rotting in the sun.

There are a few bare patches.
Scars from a recent rut?
Two holes where the arrows entered
the flank and lodged in the lungs.

Its takes forever to work
the skin soft with the brains.
Fingers raw, arms tired,
and Christ…the smell!
But it might keep you warm
in the lodge this winter.

The explosive ending of the Atomic Bikini vs. The Hydrogen Bombshell
being the most spectacular ever filmed demanded a sequel; Ivan nor Igor wanting any part of it. Eli was then contacted by DEVIL STUDIOS with
the option of taking the directorial reign. Eli instantly agreeing cheered
his wife no end, as she would be responsible for the deep tans of the cast.
How to follow up on a film that ends with double nuclear explosions set
off by the Atomic Bikini's revealing her white body's untanned *******
& blinding the Hydrogen Bombshell with a twin blast of red ****** rays causing the Bombshell to split her tights releasing a space shattering quiff ... & something, something; end credits played over a blaring death metal anthem. The Uk already on board, knowing Eli's more sedate temperament began noodling on acoustic instruments & spare percussion. The Hydrogen
Bombshell would have to be recast. A script about the Atomic Bikini
contracting breast cancer was swiftly rejected. The slender skirted exec came from the airport to the farm via limo & tried to trod the stone path
in her stilettos, tripping & falling in the mud on her hands & knees. Eli &
the band watching from the living room window; It was Eli's wife Becky who rescued the woman, as the woman-of-the-house, the first Mrs. Simple
thought it her duty to put on good manners towards a guest. Setting the girl
in a comfortable rocker, Becky prepared tea on the iron stove. The Exec
looked at Eli as the band made it out the back door. "What can I do for you?" he asked. "There's been a mistake," she said.

"You're right. How can I top space-time exploding?"
She grinned. "We wanted your son. Eli Simple Junior."
"That makes more sense. He can do that. I'll get him."
Bringing the woman a cup of sassafras in a teacup
Becky had made on her own kiln, the woman sat up
& sipped. "You're covered in mud," Becky politely
noted. "I noticed," said the woman. "Let me get you
some fresh things," said the Amish **** & walked
from the room. Eli Jr. was not in his room; outside
getting ****** with the band, who he considered all
his uncles, his father knowing Ivan & Igor since he
was a small child; the band came later, but how they
came; the Uk were the Beatles of the Warsaw Pact.

In the West their music was seen as loud, crass &
bombastic, & early on sometimes illegal on account
of content of its effect on its brawling, rioting fans.
In the East, they could pay off the police & the show
would go on; it doesn't work that way in the West.
They needed a corporate affiliation so their product
would be protected by an army of copyright lawyers.

Eli came back downstairs to find the woman naked;
Becky beside her holding a traditional Amish smock.

"You'll look good in that," he said.

She wasn't shy about her pale physique, a scrawny
titless kid about twenty-two, legs way down to the
splayed feet & toes, toenails painted pink & sweaty.
"Put this on honey, before those animals get back,"
Becky urged mildly knowing a naked woman would
give the rock stars carte blanche to involve the police.

The rock stars did return, with Eli Jr., who'd never
seen the woman before, but as she was dressed more
or less as any ordinary Amish maiden he couldn't be
bothered with her. Eli realized the strangest thing,
not introducing herself she took gently took his hand
& led him out the door alone, the guys all looking
on in silence as was Becky watching the angelic duo
exit the wooded hovel like a pair out of a fairy tale.

Eli Jr. didn't talk much, ever, & didn't say anything
walking along hand-in-hand with the nameless girl
who also not speaking, was completely new to him.

The untanned soles of your
naked feet the most
vulnerable part yet facing
my palm now
I'll slowly embrace
the crocodile woman