when he hiccuped
his energy noises. Hidden
in the shelves
of books, we heard him before
we saw him
we should've run the opposite way
to busy our faces with philosophy
or history
or religion
or sex
but POETRY!
The things I've sacrificed for poetry!
How strange the violent hiccups
How animal-like
the southern gent mustache,
earth's growing, moving, reminder of
the Civil War... or
the Alamo.
-Look! Look! Watch it wiggle!
-No I'm too afraid.
Wimp! This is my favorite
poem by E.E. Cummings.
Could I talk to you for a moment?
Go back to Kentucky,
I am scared of you.
-Uh, sure
From his slightly
unkept body
he produced a pendulum and
made us watch as it spun
above all 5 of his fingers,
one finger for each minute
he captured and tortured
our attention.
We did as he said,
stretched out our arms,
put our fingers this way
and the opposite
over our heads and
between our eyes while
he flailed about,
preaching about chi and chakras.
A hippie with windblown white hair!
Ripe with odor!
I've got good energy
said the creepy man.
I learned so much.
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