Voices on the Wind
by Dick Bakken
Pounding chicken breasts
last night got almost torturous—
I awoke this morning all carpal tunnel.
Cranking my steering
wheel left with bandaged forearm
shot shrills up that poor wing
like flash off a torch.
So I had to picture a way
to Piggly Wiggly all right turns.
Well that was one for Descartes. Now me, I
just switched an icy mocha grande
to my other hand. O yeah it was hot as
a witch’s shriek
lifting the crowd like
No wonder I signed as only gal for that
To-be-or-Not-to-be diploma—with stress on
linguistics—and betrothed a
two-wheelie jackass. I was high in rare air
enough to be a model, splashed
laughter of an actress
while all Bisbee screamed
Don’t do it!
But then I wouldn’t have had my life.
I’d have had yours. And Deepak
knows that’s a gag.
So you tell me why I’m here
with this Ace-wrapped
wingtip a day after the Piggly sale
on Alaskan coho salmon
that ran out just as I
bent to sniff