Offerings

With only four offerings left

She chooses her favorite potion

Splashes a dash of it onto her wrist

And drives the long way to the ocean

There roam the men with mechanical arms
There swim the heavier jellies
There live the women with fractured backpacks
And new offerings in their bellies

With only three offerings left
He chooses his favorite poison
Gulps down a dose of it with his lunch
And closes his eyes ‘til they moisten

Then he remembers the sign of the cross
The size of her hips and the hammock
The moment he slips he recites the words
That preceded their epoch of havoc:

“Oh no , not again, not with the wrist
Not with the eyes of sugar
Oh no, not again, shall I make a list
With numbers and names and bullets?

Oh no, not again, not with a lisp
Not with a flourish or trigger
Oh yes, then again, clinched with a kiss
The letter is sent and delivered”

With only two offerings left
She abandons him for the ocean
Where the sun peeks through its favorite cloud
As the shoreline teems with motion

There goes a woman with sand in her hair
And only food in her belly
There roam the men with titanium fins
There swims the heaviest jelly

With only one offering left
He chooses his favorite memory
Sets it to song in a matter of moments
With a lush forgiving melody

He sings to her, he’s heavier now
His voice is low and sober
She tugs on his arm and says “isn’t it strange
You waited until October?”

October 2002