Saturday, April 29, 2017

Michael Drummond writes

Metamorphosis on a Lost Rainy Day

The wipers wipe the rain 
Off the bus-wide windshield
Their movements are symmetrical 
Perfectly timed as they pivot
So precisely and simultaneously. 
These two wipers have erotic movements
As would an Indian woman carrying a jug of
On her head, her hips swiveling to absorb 
The instability of her shifting feet 
Walking down the path 
Wherein not a ripple 
Is formed on the surface of her vessel 
These windshield wipers are alive 
Showing but their profiles 
Each with a swiveling head 
Teeth clamped on to the wiper's mid-riff.
Each head has a well placed 
Cobra eye: simple rivets perpetually staring 
At each others' movements and fastened onto
their necks are two steel chop sticks 
Which are perfectly parallel 
Pivoting as they do 
An inch and a half apart 
The animal's ’esophagus’ 
Climbs up the outside chopstick 
A narrow, black rubber hose 
That spits out a chemical mix 
Onto the windshield 
Only to have it wiped away by the blade 
That the cobra fangs fasten themselves onto 
These wipers constantly pivot in and out 
In towards the middle 
Out towards the periphery 
Until the rain passes 
Wherein they come to stand still 
Staring down at each other down 
At the middle of the windshield 
Asleep with their one eye each observing us 
Like a silent, still guard 
Waiting only for the next rainfall
Proposed Colossal Monument for Grant Park, Chicago: Windshield Wiper -- Claes Oldenburg

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