The Cajun Baboon

(in 1986 I dreamed of a Cajun baboon; yesterday I wrote a poem about it)

The night I dreamed of a Cajun baboon
Was the night that followed the cold afternoon
A Saturday deep in the dead of December
Your face and his clothes helped me remember
That light falls soft on Washington Avenue
And words hit hard when they come pouring out of you
Or me, or him
Or Paul Simon

In the suburbs south and west of the city
The sleepy people sleep as if night were infinity
And the crickets' ghosts sing their medleys so sorrowful
As their hosts recline in the gardens of Florida
And the dream crept in, wind-aided, up the prairie
The Cajun baboon shrieked but didn't scare me
Then all was quiet and he pulled out a ukulele
And sang a plaintive version of Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

November 11, 2006