Remember the Alamo.
Remember the Maine.
Remember yourself, in my dream last night,
tilting your head the way that's done
when the next word is "no."
In our bed, Santa Anna's Mexican army.
At the breakfast table, saboteurs asking for the Tabasco.
Sunken steel and mud missions know
how it was and
how I remember you.
______
a 55 for my BFF.
You are so aware of this world we find ourselves in
ReplyDeleteI love your labels as much as the poem. Sigh. Saboteurs at the breakfast table. Perfect.
ReplyDeleteNot to say this is strictly unregulated humor, because it's far too sharp and layered for that, but it did crack me up at the Santa Ana line. As always your metaphors always work, and your words always reach under the hood of what we take for granted. Thanks for adding this dreamscape to the mix, dear Shay, and have a kickass weekend.
ReplyDeletewell, i'm an idiot, but for some reason Pat Benatar 'Love is a battlefield' comes to mind
ReplyDeleteI'm just going to say, I love the way you play with words and then overlap and lay other, personal meanings into it - and it just seems like "business as usual" over the breakfast table - someone reading the news and the other asking for the marmalade in distracted yet distressed fashion. But instead, I see a band of Tabasco soldiers marching across plates ... tongue in check ... interesting 55
ReplyDeleteI know these battles of the heart so well.. was just thinking yesterday how I have continued to make the same mistakes since I was 15, and never learned to NOT wear my heart on my sleeve.. those doves peck.
ReplyDeleteIt's these 9/11s of heart where we discover its bass cleff, a depth to falling where we get in the full Geronimo. How can we forget, with only hair nose and eyeballs left? What a wilderness the heart becomes. I say praise the Lord and pass the Tobasco--but spare me all that red vertigo!)
ReplyDeleteTo many homes are sieges... and too often they will end in battles.
ReplyDelete