By J.J. Tindall
Djinns of Catalina
March has been usurped by May
in this season of strange days.
The heat mirages, djinnis of oil,
already shimmer up Harlem Avenue
and the squalls along the eastern horizon
conjure a Catalina off the Third Coast:
holographs of Hearst and Chaplin
yachting with Rosetta and Loretta Martin,
Old Man Wrigley’s battery ditching practice
to swim with invisible sharks.
Outside the women come and go
talking of the marriage that is in woe.
Joggers, bladers, boarders and bleeders
make of the shoreline a Venice Beach
and the illusion that is horizon
renders a dream of a faux Catalina.
The Djinnis of Harlem Avenue
portend a summer of brusque extremes.
The very sky betrays us, early rosebuds sway
blithely in the counterfeit breeze.
The world is at the mercy of a ruined sky,
the whirl of joke mirages is a stifled cry.
Chaplin jumps a shark for his Sweet Loretta,
the djinnis get to lark because they’re already dead.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
Posted on March 18, 2012