The Working-Class Salmon
Six strides out of the box,
the greyhound can reach its full speed of 43mph.
That’s pretty good, so many high school
sports teams use them as their mascot.
Why not the banjo, though? Why not
the North Lincoln High Casual Banjo Players?
A poorly-played banjo’s just as intimidating
as speed if you’re in the mood for beauty,
which I hope most of you are.
A bear’s a bear until we put the sitting leader’s
head on it, make it slap
a working-class salmon
swimming upstream in a river of pennies.
The snow must be glowing
and the poses dramatic for the transfer of meaning
otherwise you can commit a sinesthesia
and somebody with multiple French accent marks
in their name will rub your ear in it.
Symbols are people too. I like hugging an evoker,
in the body girdle their scapula gliding echo-smooth
as wandering proof under your chattering hand,
the pressure of their cheek converging on yours
seeping heat like blow-dryed freezer thaw.