Dylan Willoughby – 2 Poems

Dylan Willoughby

2 Poems

And Drunk the Milk

The debtors had been kept at
Bay, we thought, and so, like lotus-eaters
Dawdled.  She no longer fixated on
Orange-trees, and we had come to
View this change as awkward, but
OK.  The declarations of the time
Were perverted.  Some question mark
Always inhered.  Are you all right?  We
Asked.  It had gotten away from us.  It
Had become larger than the sum of its (private)
Parts, until there was no higher-in-
Command.  All in all, we were fucked,
Up shit-creek-without-a-paddle, etc.  But
Still some clung while the narrative, already
Submerged, got lost, got lost and forgotten
In one fell but not really magnificent

Others complained about the spanking of
The monkey, how it had become insufficient,
An unworthy investment with no returns, and
We, the default mock tribunal,
Understood.  Where were the fairer
Creatures?  It was a valid question, yet
We didn’t have the requisite aplomb to
Respond, and giggled.

The effulgent leaves became an eyesore, we
Exclaimed as edict, and the bulky ones came
In large brown trucks to dispose of them, throw
Them under the carpet, so to speak.  We were
Happy campers, then, for a time.

My Vegetable Love

Was I not to be included in the games?
When they begin, something monumental is said to

Happen, though I have been ruled out & marginalized
Like a disgruntled postal employee.

At any rate, how pliable
The 2 x 4’s seemed this summer:  you cut them “like

Butter,” but what remained?  We scurried like Keats
Listening for the sounds between the sound but

Looked like freshly decapitated chickens, frenzied &
Empty.  Were we what was lost in the translation somewhere?

Somehow the poem wouldn’t become us; heck, we had such
High hopes!  I don’t mean to burst your bubble, the bubble-burster kept saying.

Was it okay that way?  Or were we dissatisfied,
(Green thoughts in a green shade, but the greenness over

Yonder, in some unreachable pastoral)?  Did the Kraken stir,
Or was it the adjustment of this house to wind?  John Donne, Anne Donne,

Undone, I kept muttering, looking at your John Deere hat.  Christ,
Was there still time for us?

return to SHAMPOO 7