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Bob Dylan Biography
Bob Dylan biography. Between
pages 23 & 24:
a receipt.
Due back May 3, 2001.
on the back, a ballpoint
scrawl: “Don’t forget—”
the slip is ripped, what was not
to be forgot
is.
On The Table in the Spotlight
They slew the beast in a glen
Then prepared it for the feast.
First they ripped of the bird’s limbs
Then they pucked clean the carass,
Cooke, cut, and served up the beast.
Feasters, slobs, vicious, minds dim,
Gather ‘round the table en masse.
These shifty, ravenous men
Leave nothing but hunks of skin,
Bare bones, cracked plates, and stained glass.
They lean back, beliies gorged. When
Full, all left of the deceased
Will be their shit, bones picked clean —
No clues to what it had been.
Playground
The sky is spinning slowly tonight
as my friends dance in the stars without music.
In the dark they have not a care; they
know that the recess bell will not ring.
Danny rides the merry-go-round,
spinning with the moon. His hair flies
out in every direction, bouncing with the
wind. He fills his face with his lunatic grin.
Timmy is climbing the tree
growing next to the jungle gym. He races
an imaginary foe to the top and almost
loses his grip, one hand swinging in the
air wildly.
Courtney sits below him with her
Knees akimbo.
She plays
with her Troll dolls, oblivious to
the others around her and the peril above.
Mike leads a company of adventurers with
baseball bats for swords and gloves for shields
around the baseball diamond, which could
be an island, a spaceship, or nothing in particular.
I lean my head against the cold metal of the fence, smiling fondly.
My fingers are looped through its metal, stuck in a way.
I want to climb and join in but something holds me back behind the chain link.
Justin leads some other children — faceless now and
nameless with time — in a game of
tag. “One, two three… not it!”
“Not it!”
“Not it!”
Tags: Poetry
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