everyone knows
Everyone Knows
by bill shively
The morning sticks
to my fingers
The fish invite inspection
of their bellies
The pilot light gone out
The small motor in my mind
has ground to a halt
Every wind is a
wet wind
The snails race
toward the basement door
The doves take a smoke break
watching the lilies
rot on the pond
The radio pulses with
death and beans
stuck black to the pan
Declarative interpretation of moment is a nice souvenir for this melancholic memento. Loved the personification of doves taking a smoke break as well as the ‘machinification’ of the person when the pilot light goes out and ‘the small motor in my mind has ground to a halt.’
‘The radio pulses with death and beans stuck black to the pan’…i too have listened to Metalica while eating refried beans. Good thing the knives were plastic. lol. I have since then switched to Enya with quesadillas! Nice work!
Enya with Quesadillas?
Dang it! I was logging in and typed ‘quesadillas’ instead of ‘quasimofo’. lol.
Well yes. The poem ends with some very sad and ‘less than upbeat’ symbols here–‘radio pulses with death’ and ‘beans stuck black to the pan’. In some alternate prozac universe {the title for your next poem–commission $5} i imagined the more positive culmination: ‘Enya and quesadillas’. hmm.
Anyway. I think i can relate to these moments of ..aw Jesus, there’s no thrill of life in anything i’m looking at and observing right now. No beauty…just raw observation with dull grey showing up on the mood ring, you know? But there’s sort of a dark beauty, like the chubby Goth girls camping out at the next ‘Twilight’ movie, that comes from seeing things in the half-light half-life blah-aidiscope.
I try to end my days like this with delicatessen from Michigan–deep fried lamprey with Motown Lager to wash it down…slimy, yet satisfying!
Skip the motown lager and quest for Bell’s Oberon. You will not be disappointed.
How about Bell’s two-hearted ale? That usually gets my pilot light lit.
One thing I learned from Shively in Oregon was how to relax, observe, and discover the difference between bein’ a wino or a connoisseur. All that’s in this. Also, nice title nod to Cohen.
Yes! That’s even better than Oberon! It’s my favorite IPA, Jim.
Is this about opening time at a Mexican restaurant? If it is, then “Every wind is a wet wind” is a great way to describe farts, and your poem needs a new title.