The Poetry of Daniel Harrison

Only Dreaming

Collectively, it sounds like distant applause,
The laboured breathing at the
Convention of obese southerners.
Most attendees have ugly, irritating dogs.
They believe I am their keynote speaker.
“Certainly there’s some mistake” I complain.
They persist. I’ve kept my secret too long, they say
Tonight, it shall be revealed. “Praise the Lord, etc…”.
My heart squeezes up into my throat as
Two fat cops muscle me through the crowd.
They kick open the front double doors and
Toss me unceremoniously into the street.
“This ain’t the USA... yer in Alabama now, boy”.
“Guess ah’ll just mosey along then, y’all”, I say.

Outside a panhandler tries to assault me sexually.
Enraged, I push him to the ground, then
Bang his skull repeatedly on the pavement.
Seemingly used to such behaviour,
He takes my violent reaction in stride.
His head proves to be entirely indestructible.
The best player ever to strap on the skates
Drives up in a beautifully restored ’58 Chevy.
Seizing this rare opportunity,
I push the bum in the passenger door and slam it shut.
“He’s your problem now, Gretzky”, I yell.
Later, I’ll feel some guilt about
Fobbing my hassles off on the Great One.
But I figure, if anyone can cope, it will be him.

Both of my deceased parents appear.
“Dad”, I say, “You have no idea how silly
Things have become since you checked out.
Schwarzenegger is now governor”.
“Aw, fer chrissakes! Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you”.
And of course, Mom wants to know
When am I going to write some ‘nice’ poetry.
“What’s with the wacko stuff?”, she says.
“Nobody feels happy reading that”.
I want to say ‘feeling happy’ is not the point,
But lack the energy to defend my neurotic ruminations.
Besides, maybe she’s on to something.
So I let myself slip backward into the new dawn
Then stop complaining that my world makes no sense.



[Sep 14, 2007]