“Head”
With Flourish
Driving north into the city,
skirting the western edge of the lake
under the very nose of Canada
poised below our thumb to plant
a stolen kiss or take a bite
when our back is turned, old
familiar landmarks tick
past like Burma Shave signs or
The Turk doing a grim head tally
on the pike-lined road to Bucharest.
I clap politely when a duo of
looming cooling towers segues to the
zany pie-in-the-face
seltzer-down-the-pants
slapstick of Zug Island,
muster a chuckle
for musty one liners
rolling rim shot off the stage of
The Rouge, perched high in the cheap
seats on the Rouge River bridge.
The Michigan Central Station on LaCombe
Drive waits in the wings but the pathos
of mime is more than even I can bear.
That’s when I stumble on your one man show,
equal parts bravado and brevity,
peering through my windshield thinking
even I could tag a sign from a bridge but
free climbing a gantry within a hairs
breadth of indifferent trucks is arts essence;
risking all for an audience of one.
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