Maureen Thorson
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THE BLUE OX
Mama don't put me on the tilt-a-whirl,
But I'll hang out in the funhouse with
You, small at one end, so big at
The other your footprints could be
Lakebeds, you could scrunch up
Some mountains for your pillow. One
Look and then you shift away, I shift
Away, but something keeps us paired,
All songs in one go lo-fi stream, one
Slo-fi shuffle. Watching those
Huge figures of steel and concrete
With their easy, unacklowledging
smiles,
Woodsman, ox, I got it. Picture it this way:
Easy on your suspension and even easier on
The eye, Babe is in the parking lot,
While Paul is inside scoring beer.
They're a good team that way, know love
Is one watchful eye, one tricky finger,
A lot of looking smaller, looking bigger,
A lot of looking like you're not doing
What you are.
AND THE INVITATION READ, “PAYABLE ON DEATH”
Sunshine over the dam and lapping water:
There will not be any of your neat groveling,
None of your dances a la volcano,
But from the rabbit-shaped flowerpot
With its ceramic ears painted with daisies
You will draw out my love like letters from a sack,
Important documents from a battered valise.
The old prejudices will bite no more, because
Death makes us forgiving, and the one
Who made us angry isn't there. The glassy
Sparkling of the sunshine on the deepening
Waters reminds us of imagined wealth,
Of winter sleds in memories so old they've
Faded to a deep sienna brown, and despite
Ourselves we shiver with unexpected pleasure.
Come on then, to my party above the snow.
Come on then, to my party by the water.
I will never be a stranger, but I will maintain
The stranger's emptiness: I will drain, I will
Hold, be filled anew -- flowers and sleds and
Ceramic ears and all the silvery coins of ice
From so long ago, the silvery coins with which
You pay my last admission, with which
I consent to go.
We also learn that all the earth's monsters
Have been collected and put onto one island.
The monsters will fight for you, if you've got
Cash. You and your buddies can relieve yourselves
Of whatever assumptions of complexity and just
Go in pounding each other with monsters. "Arggh!
You will pay dearly," yell the monsters when
They lose. Their monster teammates yell back,
"Arggh!" The monsters are further divided
into
More monsters, into uber-monsters,
hemi-monsters,
Boss-monsters, loser-monsters, shoe-monsters, mom-
N-pop monsters, but no lame monsters like the blob.
Marketing empire: for the bored girlfriends of rich
Guys who back teams of badass fighting monsters
There are boutiques that pop up, selling custom
Monster skins. Go get yourself something blue
And slick, something with flames up and down
The legs, a far cry from the green and warty monsters
Of yesteryear. Have a monster martini. It's got
Campari. Have a monster bean bag toy. Collect 'em
All, and then just try to get them home on the plane.
You'll brush a tear from your botoxed eye, saying,
"I didn't even have room for the Flame Swordsman."
Meantime, your playboy husband is having the mansion
Vetted one last time for monsters; he's gotten twitchy
Since losing 40 grand to a team of mean-as-hell,
Leather-wearing monsters. "You're sure
there's no
Monsters here?" He prods the guy from the agency, while
Thumbing through a leaflet warning: every day,
At least three people are turned into monsters. Your
Toddler asks at bedtime, "Mommy? Will there be monsters
That are very, very large?" "Oh,
honey," you say, thinking
About one sexy-yet-evil croco-man
and his cool
Campari-scented sigh, "Honey. There already
are."