Park Walk by John Davis

 


Yellow sun sifting over trees. Lovers sucking face

         grip like sea anemones, tentacles and all.
                The villain Happiness darts closer like tissue
                         in the wind. Only my imagination has kissed more lips.
                I hear the ocean in dry leaves, a surf breaking
         on a sandy beach, and gulls stirring their bleary
cries, only it’s my feet scraping the dirt
         massaging their soles. If it seems beautiful, if it
                reminds you of love, it’s only the afternoon acting out
l                  like a suspense thriller. A Doctor Jekyll/Mister Hyde
                         ejaculation, a one sip from madness.
                If today is a forgery of joy, let me break out of prison
         and commit more crimes until I’m on death row
for loving the pudendum tree.
         Wind is sermonizing again and the ferns need
                saving as badly as the rhododendrons need watering.
                         Anything’s possible. Perfume from lavender plants
                can anesthetize nostrils a mile away. Here comes thunder
         just when your ears need bending, when the crack
of the aluminum bat gives the girl a stand-up double
         but the game is called on account of rain.

©2020 John Davis

 

Follow John

John Davis is the author of two collections, Gigs and The Reservist. His work has appeared recently in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, One and Rio Grande Review. He moonlights in blues and rock and roll bands.

 

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