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
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.