Toad, Hog, Assassin, Mirror

TOAD, HOG, ASSASSIN, MIRROR


Toad, hog, assassin, mirror.
Some of its favorite words, which are breath.
Or handwriting: the long tail of the ‘y’ disappearing
into a barn like a rodent’s, and suddenly it is winter
after all. After all what? After the ponds dry up
in mid-August and the children drop pins down each canyon
and listen for an echo.

Next question, please. What sex is it, if it has any?
It’s a male. It’s a white male Caucasian.
No distinguishing birthmarks,
the usual mole above the chin.
Last seen crossing against a light in Omaha.
Looks intelligent. But haven’t most Americans seen
this poem at least once by now? At least once.
Then, how is the disease being . . . communicated?

As far as we can determine, it is communicated entirely
by doubt. As soon as the poets reach their mid-twenties
they begin living behind hedgerows.
At the other end of the hedgerows someone attractive
is laughing, either at them, or with a lover
during sexual intercourse. So it is like prom night.
Yes. But what is the end of prom night?
The end of prom night is inside the rodent;
it is the barn collapsing on a summer day.
It is inside the guts of a rodent.

Then, at least, you are permitted an unobstructed view
of the plain? Yes. And what will be out there, then,
on the plain? A rider approaching with a tense face,
who can’t see that this horse has white roses
instead of eyes. You mean . . . the whole thing
all over again. Unfortunately, yes, at least as far
as we are permitted to see.


Larry Levis