Three Days of Fever

Three Days of Fever
By El Guero
Three days of fever with high desert spring coming on is
like waking up in New Orleans
three weeks before Katrina
in the still-summer dark
forgetting for a moment where you are
and why
and parting your hotel room curtains to see a night world
lit by fire
and
always –
somewhere –
faint promises
of g-strings
and jazz.
It’s like hearing one of your bario students read you and
only you his poems of
guns and mota and God
and then fall silent
for the next ten years.
It’s like how
you think of New Orleans now like you think of friends
you saw once and never
again
like the women who once crowded your bed
now faceless
more and more
like wind-ravaged sphinx
along a blue Nile.
It’s like wars
started for no real reason
and that never end
except when you close your eyes and will
the sun to set everywhere at once
bringing sleep to every eye making
the earth safe finally for the wolves in Minnesota and
the grasshoppers in Oklahoma and
the lovers who will awake
tomorrow.

0 thoughts on “Three Days of Fever

  1. i really like this poem. great imagery. i would have kicked the ending back around to more hotel imagery and ended it somewhere in that thought room. still really great though. just jumps off a diving board into the pool of general thought.

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