The Enchanted Kielbasa

Mike Silverton

[May 2010.]



Père Pierre:
dents frame face,
“bulbous reticule” (Proust, marcelled).

Mère Marie:
Painful to look at.
Père, Mère ensemble:
cheeks blotchèd, eyes crustèd,
misdirected “impris’ning lips,
gums & a toof” (Piranesi? Pir&ello? Renzo Piano? Pianissimo?),
misaligned smirks encircling cigars, in her case, Pierre’s,
in his case, Marie’s, d’accord, vice versa,
four feet air treading.
Ingest these inanities, sit back & listen.


Suave stranger, in pleasantries steeped:
“Children! Homes!”
Yokels: “On a rock we chisel your visage.”
Suave stranger: “Rotary! Elks! Masonic cathedrals!”
Bumpkins: “Climb aboard Sis for a nice li’l quickie on this peg-leg
we’d like to install after we saw your birth-limb off.
The trail you leave might be of interest to the eye somewhere for
Suave stranger: “Huzzah for brigands & old single-malt!”
Hayseeds: “Thus the plump curtain descends.”


Providence the smile revokes.
Where it was a hole now is.
I look like an exit, amen.


“I st& here! Beside you!”
“Yes! Lovely!”
“Yes! Clouds!”
“Yes! Lovely!”
The couple abides on one leg apiece.


The busy wind on my bed did shed where I did rise
so rare a blossom, musick I heard! Skylarks! Skylarking!
& O! Also! Millions of stars!


Adieu, says he, a barrel into climbing,
down the thoroughfare barreling,
here & there interest earning.

Casimir farms on his knees.
Piled high with old smelts,
Casimir’s lady refuses to be gai.


The ancien régime expires.
A halved grapefruit hovers.
I conduct from afar with a two-by-four.


The entrance to a cloister. Tinkling fountain, lentils, grapenuts.
The maidens sing of the garden’s pleasures,
of sunshine, of flowers. The King of the Moors mutters endearments.
A page enters, announces, “Rodrigo!”
Mercury delivers a note from Don Dipso. Monks exit.
Sailors step forward. Pace is evasive.


Bushmen irradiate the enemy with sign language.
Her smile tastes good.
Explosions mark the hour, none louder than an angry thought.
It’s the thought that counts.


Light lies lightly on the lit.
The wine itself uncorks (ploop).
The deck called poop droops & fizzles,
the Hesperus sinks.
I hear you out there & strange to tell
’tisn’t your yawps that brighten the darkness.


You go to the window to see what the weather’s like,
come away with a high-paying job,
excellent benefits, perks.


Ever seen a silver dollar upside down?
It sticks out its little feet!
It turns itself right over again!



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