P oetry R epair S hop 1999.09:098
- CONTEMPORARY INTERNATIONAL POETRY
- by new, emerging, and established poets

JOHN HORVÁTH, JR.
Writing About Balls

Dance at 'em penguined or fairyqueen pretty in taffeta sequins with heels;
Some come with chain; you get them big irons for busting up buildings,
You put 'em on the line; get four and you walk; but a writer's the thing.
You've gotta put 'em on the monk's plate after his long prayers and fasting;
You've got to shut lid to the dank fate that he'll be hungry for the raw of it
And know in one eye that it wouldn't be so--he'll consume, not devour it:
He'll not know you lay 'em out for moments repugnant sublime full o'danger
He'll spit out a curse to castigate spreadleg wantonly posed at his table
He'll fit to be tied with silver spoons and his flatware making polite
Proper prose outta this deed that you've done, what you left on his plate.
But he'll not stoop to be fed by this sort of smut. Not til alone and unready
Til much later at night when he dreamt that he slept then he woke and
Then fondles himself rudely awake to the image of cake covered in white
With coconut flake and sometimes yes sometimes he remembers 'em pink
Not tasting of sugars and berries for Chri'sake and it's not what you Think
But a foolsilly feeling that comes with its icing on lip on the nose stuck
To the roof of your mouth No Jesus it's not for the rhyme not for a reason
You did it but for an effect over time that you do like someone says
'Sno-Balls' a trademark but all of your childhood deeds come up to the plate an'
I say writers got balls like that--ain't taste but the sight and the feel of 'em
Count.

Poem copyright 1999; all rights reserved. (If you wish to copy this poem, please contact its AUTHOR).