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Spencer Anthony Troxell
Fall 2007
Large Objects Moving Slowly
As your breasts
make their glacial excursion
towards your hips,
and my balls
begin to droop
like a Halloween bag
full of too much candy,
I will pause
from time to time
and remember years before
when our two taut bodies
were so easily entertained
by such flat, firm surfaces,
and explored them ruthlessly,
like conquistadors
looking for golden cities.
And I will smile,
and consider these days,
when the terrain is much
more complex,
unpredictable,
and a safari
of the many curves and folds
may take months of planning
to execute,
and only god knows
how many hired natives
will be lost along the way.
Famous Haircuts
Sitting in this black swivel chair
with your fingernails on my scalp,
in a fog from the mist you sprayed
from your little bottle,
in a fog from the small-time,
flirty-tip talk,
I am trying to remember
how this would go when I was a kid.
I’ve been shaving my head so long,
I’ve forgotten what it was like,
the snip, snip,
the closeness of a stylist’s perfume,
the white tiled floors and piles
(smaller now than then)
of shorn hair.
I am a little unsure
of what to tell my wife.
Snip, spray, snip, buzz,
and you spin me around,
hiding yourself behind a plastic
lab jacket,
‘What do you think?’ you ask.
‘Yes’, I say, blood returning
fast to my face,
‘our children will be beautiful.’
2006
Humphrey Bogart
I am too old in here.
Do you see the posters
On the walls in my head?
Do you see Humphrey Bogart,
Tapping his fingers on the bar?
Do you hear Django Reinhardt,
Slamming the vase
On the restaurant table?
Maybe I’ll paint you sometime,
You’d look good in a hat.
There was a time when I could
Get away with a hat,
But not now. No long coats,
No hats.
Just ball caps and pullovers.
Someday that will be quaint,
But that’s not all I’m after.
There’s an art to scotch and soda,
That I am just learning.
Hell Is Square
And it’s surrounded
By an 18 inch white line
That the damned
Have to scrub--baseball caps turned around--
Until it is as white
As baby’s teeth.
There are no winning teams in hell.
Only folks
In scuba gear--
With faces that point out
At odd angles.
Summer 2005
My Wings are Tinted, Shiny
We were born, unsalted, un-ground,
Un-browned beef,
Brought in from the tower on lion’s
Feet.
We fought the devil with our sharp
Toothpick swords and
He set our hearts on fire.
Burnish the very silk of our silence,
Drape the holy tears across
Our dismantled breasts like lettuce
On the grave of a rabbit.
There are no gods here,
Only hobos and whores,
Chitterlings and nothing.
From the silence we can provoke
Plagiarisms so grand, hands shaking,
Black and biased against the
White walls, hatted with clouds,
Rivulets of bird shit racing towards
Their bases, seeking absolution.
I can’t seem to provoke the frog king,
Can’t seem to provoke the frog king,
Can’t seem to find him in his pond, un-serene,
Fucking she frogs and smiling like a
Kid-fed Buddha, slapping his hindquarters,
Deep fried and snapping.
You are full of shame, shining, barreling,
--Bronze-soled and waiting--Our prayers
Can be like oxygen, we can be remiss,
We can digress in this grandest digression
Of all,
We can input and move on,
Because three years past is three years
Past.
Start playing the trumpet today,
Because have I got a solo for you,
To blow your mind,
Open, On a wide blue canvas,
Your thoughts like stars.
The Breeze Comes By
The
breeze
comes
by,
Muttering
beneath
Its
Breath.
But I have become skilled
In ignoring it,
Chomping at its gum,
Wiping it’s feet,
Its dirty, dirty feet
On my walls,
Tussling my hair.
The
breeze
comes
by,
Muttering
beneath
Its
Breath.
But I don’t hear what it’s
Saying beneath it’s breath.
Why bother I ask,
Are you happy to know
Just to know, that I know,
That I know that you
Are here?
The
Breeze goes
Out
The window,
Back,
Back into the hall
And it’s cool kisses
Are missed,
They’re missed
On the back of my
Neck.
How It Felt To Deliver the News
It was like sunburn flakes for breakfast.
Like Jenny itching her scalp, hoping nothing falls
On her mahogany shoulders.
It was just like snow.
It was like cannons firing and you’ve got
Earplugs in. Nowhere near as devastating,
Or tooth-rattling--but like hearing the couple
Next door fight through 3 inch drywall.
It was like finding a twenty dollar bill,
And then having it gently tugged from your
Hand on a windy day:
It was like fighting the inclination to chase
After it, cursing under your breath.
It was like remembering you left the stove on
It was like eating an apple.
It was barbecue pizza.
. It was like climbing to the top of the longest, thinnest sentence in this
poem and looking over the edge at all of the little
people down at the bottom, thinking about how much they all look like periods and commas,
and realizing that you too might look like a period or a comma to them--if
they can even see you at all, as you arch towards them.
It was like tremendous gunfire.
No, It wasn’t like that at all.
None of it.
I’m not sure I could describe it,
Come-to-think,
Isn't that funny?
Spencer Anthony Troxell
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