Instead of Working Out
A Poem
Published in
Aug 24, 2023
Sleep is an arrow — time is a bullfrog
warming its blood in the sun.
The morning flowers blur
as they stretch toward pollinators,
as wings beat and tongues moisten,
hairs lengthen, sugar ignites,
muscles spasm, ink dries beneath
fingernails clipped and left for dead.
We no longer chop down Christmas trees.
We no longer dress our own cattle,
our own chickens, our own children.
We’ve pulled down all the scarecrows,
put up hot spots, endlessly drive
the delivery routes, sanction
the over-inspection of our blank castles
and absent pastures. But there is water
and warmth & it comes from a gun.
It looks like safety, it tastes like a fried
sample platter, dollar store happiness stuffed
in a bag, strapped to our backs as we run.
©️ Trapper Markelz 2023
