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Chicagoetry: Fang

FANG

So: in this dream,
a long, yellow cobra
marked with green diamonds
ensnared me

as I rode my bike toward home.
His flat head wrapped
around my right handlebar grip
and I feared it's tail end

might get caught up
in the spokes of the back wheel.
His flat head rested
near my right hand

but I didn't want to let go
of the handlebar grip.
I figured I'd simply be careful.
Of course, his eyes betrayed

a slow move toward the meat
between my right thumb and forefinger,
but as in the physics of dreams,
I could not move my hand.

He sunk his fangs hard
into the muscle of my hand.
So I pried his fucking mouth
off and pressed his fucking jaw

shut but as I did
he began to mock me
in the most vicious and vehement
tones, through his clenched jaws,

effectively calling me out
as a dupe and a pussy,
regardless of his own now
sorry fate.

And I'd worried for him!
I continued riding down the dark lane
toward home, but in a dream
it's never really home,

it is a vision of a past home,
a home now abandoned and disregarded.
What was a street became
twin paths trammeled by wagon wheels,

and I rode west toward Aurora--
sans borealis--
where the suburbs stop
and the farmlands begin,

as the cobra assailed my being.
So I swung him whole
like a cold-scaled lariat
in a clown-yellow harlequinade

and sent him flying
into the underbrush.
But I still heard hissing and coughing
(which I later guessed

was the heat pipes en fugue),
and the ground became infested
with sneering, snarling serpents--

a plague of cobras,
a borealis of fangs--

and then my bike was on a plank
laid some feet atop the path,

riding back east through the slither,
trying not to crush them
but inundated with the squish
of raw meat under my wheels.

I fought to keep my balance
along this plank above the hissing lane
but as soon as the thought occurred,
that I didn't want to slide off

further down into the vipers,
as in the logic of dreams
I slid off further down into the vipers,
waiting for the sure sting of death.

I awoke at home.

-

J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

-

More Tindall:

* Chicagoetry: The Book

* Ready To Rock: The Music

* Kindled Tindall: The Novel

* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance



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Posted on December 17, 2013


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