No Second Eden: Poems

Boxcar Arthur, the Sequel

Boxcar Arthur, the Sequel A noir, E blanc, I rouge, U vert, O bleu: voyelles. At almost two, the little girl Is notably unchubby. Jaw Suggests and stubbornness confirms Grandmother will emerge in her. Having one leg and no one job, Her father is enough at home To see the symptoms. Irony Of ironies, he finds that these Attract him to the child. His wife Has nothing that could replicate, Except a dowry, which, at eight Percent, is replicating fast: Suez Canal shares. He at one point, Earlier in middle age, Had thought of trying Panama. He is an engineer of sorts, And put by Abyssinia, Could Darien have been much worse? It is a comment on his youth That, leathery and sallow, bald, On crutches, he at last had true Success as object of desire. Whether for dangers he had passed Or outright pity he is too Incurious to ask. The truth Is, neither. Mlle. Suez Had fantasies of doing good On Devil’s Island, and in him 49 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. Saw her Guiana close to home. Specialized tastes are what they are; It is not lost on him that best Of all, perhaps, in terms of income, Would have been to be a blond Young amputee of seventeen. If in a sense he was that—cut Off certainly from common sense— The Sazerac that was his mind In those days now is clear enough To know it is not memory. Absinthe took care of that. Meanwhile, His daughter’s mind he is obsessed With forcing prematurely. Toys Must teach the alphabet. “At two?” His wife rebukes him. “Let the child Have rattles. She can’t even talk.” Perhaps. She knows, however, who Her friends are, and ascends his leg. The one that takes up at the knee. Specialized tastes are not confined To the Parisian underworld. Her father reaches from his chair And takes up off the floor, spit out In the direction of Maman, Her pacifier and her blocks, That on opposite faces, chewed, Have traces of an upper case And lower. Starting off by rote, “A, black,” he tells her; “E . . .” As if Absinthe gave way to Pernod, vague, He halts. His version does not match The color coding of the blocks. 50 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. “U, red,” he tries again, and brings In line with late reality His vowels, as he brought himself. True blue, the stubborn eyes go shut. Pernod and absinthe mix again; His mind drifts to her infancy: Disorienting days of sleep Well lost; the hard technique he learned To walk her on a single crutch. “Really to totally derange The senses,” he at some remove Self-quotes, “it takes an infant.” Tired, He puts the vowel blocks in color Order, shifts his child, and sleeps. 51 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. ...