Storm Free

Some people say that hurricanes
are caused by butterflies
beating their wings
like tribal drums
on the banks
of backward flowing rivers
in the Rainforest

Which is why
I am standing here
on a starfish-strewn beach
in the Florida panhandle
catching southbound Monarchs
before they reach the diamond waters
and tying little notes
to their black-sneakered feet
(Chuck Taylors)
and sending them
on their way to Brazil
where maybe another butterfly
with mayhem on his mind
and his wings angled toward Orlando
will hesitate
and read my note
“Shhhh … be still”

Maybe not
But it’s worth a shot


by Brad

--

Butterflies with sneakers! Nice.

This was an early poem at the booth, which was a shame because we could have used the incantation later in the week when it rained like crazy.

Your Mother Knows

She’s been stepping around it so long
she hardly notices anymore
bright, shiny, and lit from below
like a pagan altar
bigger than a bread box
yet all but invisible
a hysterical scatoma

And always the spoiler
the embarrassing Republican
in the family woodpile
breath reeking
of box wine and brimstone
tight in the pants
like a wide-stanced fundamentalist
in a public bath

“She’s a lesbian,”
A juicy tidbit
forked with relish
at a family gathering
a wedding
or maybe the christening
of someone else’s daughter’s daughter

“Fuck you,” she says
sweet and senescent
snuffing Hiroshima
like the stem of her wine glass
held between her thumb and forefinger

Your mother knows.

by Brad

--

I think I can guess on at least one of the custom words. I remember Brad writing this for the nice lesbian couple, and wish I could have been there when they got it.

It's beginning to occur to me that everybody else got the really juicy titles, goddammit.