I think about what I want to do.
Think about what I want to have done.
The sun is shining on a white lattice.
It’s crisp and cold outside and I want to feel it on my cheek and
I want to feel vital, strong, new, different, onto something, on a roll, in the know
In the clear,
Desirable and desired.
Inside it’s dark hot and close.
There is a train inside me dark and cold.
I need some coal and a coalman to shovel the coal where the coal goes.
I need a lot of things.
Stoke my cold locomotive.
Well first I got to get to a bigger window.
I can barely see the light.
“It’s the elephant in the room,” we say, as if an elephant would quietly sit
On the floor
Quiet as a mouse, muscles tensed hoping not to be noticed, talked about
or pointed out.
Or as if the elephant were a
wallflower at the school dance, shyly sitting on a folding chair sipping punch,
yearning to chat with the prettiest girl or
The cocky prom king.
If the elephant in the room is an elephant
He’s ancient, strong, proud, regal.
He doesn’t care for your room nor mine, nor does he regard them.
Mind you, he’s not rude nor does he wish you ill, but he doesn’t belong in our rooms.
HHe will bust out, leaving an elephantine hole in the wall
If he leaves a wall at all.
Elephants are social. The elephant in the room wants to find his friends and family he wants to make a loud noise, i mean he has an actual deafening musical instrument for a nose which is also an extra hand for grasping things, maybe a candy from a dish on your table or an interesting tchotcke from your shelf, which he’ll stick in his pouch. Oh, wait that’s a kangaroo. What do I look like, a zoologist?
He’ll grab it on the way. On his way
out of the room.
Leaving us without a metaphor.