Tonight's Poet Corner: And She's High
And She's High
by Belinda Roddie
And she's high over
the new One World Trade Center,
gracing the skies on a ribbon of smoke,
winding closely around floating debris
where planetside meets cosmos. And she's
halfway to Mexico in a cartel truck,
beanie pulled over her long hair,
a cigar protruding from her lower lip
and one hand on the steering wheel.
The oasis awaits. It's no mirage.
It is very, very green.
¿Qué día es hoy? No me importa.
And then she's home.
She's left half a bag of potato chips
crumbled on the living room rug.
Her labrador feeds on the shattered bits
of salt while she wipes her eyes with the rag
she used to brush the dust from the
television set. But somewhere else,
away from the piles of static, away
from the phone calls delivered by squealing
abusive ex-boyfriends, she's in
the western lung of Chicago,
saving the populace from aliens and airplanes,
finding a piece of herself in a star.
by Belinda Roddie
And she's high over
the new One World Trade Center,
gracing the skies on a ribbon of smoke,
winding closely around floating debris
where planetside meets cosmos. And she's
halfway to Mexico in a cartel truck,
beanie pulled over her long hair,
a cigar protruding from her lower lip
and one hand on the steering wheel.
The oasis awaits. It's no mirage.
It is very, very green.
¿Qué día es hoy? No me importa.
El agua, está fría. Puedo construit
una balsa. Puedo salvarte antes de
que te ahogues.
And then she's home.
She's left half a bag of potato chips
crumbled on the living room rug.
Her labrador feeds on the shattered bits
of salt while she wipes her eyes with the rag
she used to brush the dust from the
television set. But somewhere else,
away from the piles of static, away
from the phone calls delivered by squealing
abusive ex-boyfriends, she's in
the western lung of Chicago,
saving the populace from aliens and airplanes,
finding a piece of herself in a star.
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