Kemp

Kemp

by Harvey Goldner

With his fine blond hair streaming in the wind
from a noisy electric fan,
Kemp reads in his metaphysical text
that the seat of the human soul

is probably the pineal gland,
tucked under the brain, and not,
as Kemp is convinced,
a golden throne on the dark side


of the silvery moon.
This bit of misinformation from the
smug and ignorant book
so pisses off Kemp


that he flings it through the open door of his
gloomy Memphis apartment,
and it lands open
on the burnt grass.

Then Kemp gets up from his
sleazy chair
and goes outside into the heat, the harsh
light of the August afternoon.

When Kemp bends over to pick it up,
the book speaks
in a small, sweet voice: “Kemp,
I baked you a little cake.”

Kemp stands amid sunshine,
holding the book to his breast,
as if it were a nursing baby, and then
Kemp starts to weep.


Harvey Goldner