10.17.2012

Baffled by Esperanto

It comes as a virus
infected by man:
the stacking of milked Mother Nature.
In one spider's web
a smaller arachnid
has spun another
in two outer frames
like a gross display
of our politics.
The light catches it
opalescently
while my smoke gives depth
to the evening steps
and a car pulls in
to the same spot as always.

Its driver ejects
with the force of much grain
and dances upon the macadam.
Still unimpressed, he squawks at his friend
who's keeping a window
open quite late
since it's already half through October.

"It's cold," he states
to me or to him
but I take up the reins
with a dull "Little bit."
It dawns on me later
as it tends to do
that I should've said
"Not if you're drunk."
That kind of quip
and its typical risks
was burned with
my little black book.

Hearing a door
and peering its way
reveals that it's only the hopeful.
The small spider waits
for its turn up at bat.
Don't forget the face of your father.

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