poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Friday, July 29, 2011

Good Day

Start with a million dollars, start two generations ago

in a New York that no one

would recognize now. Elephants, yes

and giraffes. Left to your real life

which didn’t begin until your first safari when you heard the lions

singing in London/ singing keep on keeping on

a hundred years ago/ it was Christmas, right,

but there was no Christmas, only hibernation

(no orphans, only Dickens’s imaginings)

and the bears were fighting all the time, right,

then they would make-it-up with dancing. Keep left.

Who doesn’t like dancing?

When you get back to New York everything is NEW and you

crave constant civil crush.

Blonde drama. Colors changing. Hooves. Lost sunglasses. Loss. Song.

Then the dancing bears lay down to sleep

beside the white piano, turn right,

get on the ship, sure, just keep on keeping on,

or, if you prefer, everything is gonna be alright.

On the ship you caught the fish that jumped silver straight up out of the water.

You taught the fish to talk, to smile

and they would sound like cab drivers

some nights, saying : listen buddy, relax

at the end of the day if you got five dollars left, I’d say it was a good day.

So you’d tell them where to go. Left, right/ other times you’d teach

them a word, blush/ and they’d hang on to the word like a hook in the mouth:

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck./ Just say it was a good day.

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