from Clangings
I hear, in my phone, vocabulary where
he’s not there, and head for a textbook.
Unless I leave him be I’ll get a smack.
I leaf through movies, see smoke and fire,
race round in rings, get woozy and fall
asleep, dream up an exit. You would too.
A burned man gripped straw. People do,
you know: water their palms. Big deal.
What if your brother was a child of five
and cried the eyes nighthawks hunt with?
Once a babe in khaki shorts gave birth 
to ashes in a lobby. Who’d you save,
stuck on a horse, your recourse a pony
to the circus?  Bottom-feeders suck it to go,
till their guts sag. “How was the show?”
asked a toucan. What would you say?
Dear ears, his eyes kept peered for you. 
There was stereo, no paring needed.
He seemed so healthy, witty, so glad
with all the tripwires we’d run through.
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