By J.J. Tindall
Lope
And the caravan
Is calling:
A train of camels lopes
Across the Sahara
Of my insomnias, train
Festooned with worn tassels,
Cheap rope and tattered rugs.
A couple camels
Carry supplies, of course:
Grass, seeds and grains for them,
Fruit, jerky and water for me.
Otherwise
Each camel is loaded
With a memory of vivid regret,
Loss and humiliation:
A harsh last word
To a significant other, vicious betrayal
By a trusted friend,
The abject failure
Of a clumsy pass,
Coarse rejection by a
An admired peer,
A drunken meltdown
In a public forum,
A stray remark
That shatters a vibe
And clears a room.
Responsibility requested,
Granted and thoroughly botched.
Not even to mention–
Not even to mention–
The politics of my neighbors.
Those concerns
Will surely return
With the innocent dawn.
But I never awaken
In the dark
To a showcase
Of trophies,
To a chorus line
Of charitable gestures
Or a resume of hard-earned
Praise. These insomnias
Find me groggy
On a barren, practically lunar,
Expanse, amidst
The hissing and farting
Of a long, stalled train
Of bitchy, burdened
Bactrians and dromedaries
(Two humps and one hump,
Respectively),
Crabby, restless
And resentful of their loads.
But when I long to forget
I realize that’s death.
I concede
I’d rather lead the lope
Than forget.
Macho, melodramatic
Assertions aside,
Only the dead
Have no regrets.
So: crabby
And restless myself,
I choose to endure
The caravan, as ever
It recurs, until
Dawn (i.e. “Sahara!”)
Burns away this fraught mirage.
But first, for each burdened beast,
An extra apple
And handful of dates.
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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.
–
More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on February 13, 2017