Tractor Pond

Tractor Pond 

The tractors come here to drink.
Crouched beside this empty pond
They wait here battered, 
listing,
out of line.
They wait here and wait here a long, long time.

But tractors do not measure time like you do.
They are mechanical unnatural machine creatures
(and none too bright, by the by)

If across the aions until the giganum chimes
all things are revealed alive.
Then they will have their drink and then they will dance and then they will mate.

We are the tractors.
Beside this dried up pond we wait.

Written by Victor Jose Magri
Posted on 03-24-13

T.S. Garp

T.S. Garp

He sits there in momentary,
but dopey,
agony.
I remember!
We read it!
6th Grade!
Mrs. Hoffman’s class!

(What a burly and startling woman she was!)

Too late.
The words echo only
inside his super-novaed mind.

(Il est le prison cantaloup qui sent si mauvais!
N'oubliez pas que nous l'a jeté à la poubelle?
Il ya trois jours?)

Broken inside,
His last shit an important failure.
Not even a mildly romantic
rupture of the heart.
No coroner will say,
“Ah the love pump. It has failed!”

“He didn’t have no one,” say the black girls and
they clean him up,
Flip him into the body bag.
Peel off their yellow gloves and drop them in the trash.
“Nobody ever came to see him.”

The poet drifts from Purgatory,
no intention in the exit.

“It is morning, Senlin says.”

Written by Victor Jose Magri
Posted on 11-26-12