|
THE UNICORN
I wait, wondering if your car will come.
There is this tension about me,
a taste of metal in the throat.
Outside,
in the bright night air, the planes sound
like bombers coming in to land. Each bears
a full load of passengers, on the tourist trail,
who will soon come knocking at my door,
looking to see how the other half lives.
I will show them through the house, past
peacocks & persian cats, & artifacts
of long forgotten tribes. Then I will open
the door of the secret room, from out of which
comes flowers & fireworks, hiding
the rancid sweatsmell of the unicorn
that lives there.
Its hooves strike sparks
that burn the eyes. It is growing hungry.
I will have to feed it soon.
I wait, wondering if your car will come.
© Mark Young
|
