WAKING
First, the needling headache behind the
eyes
Allows I am awake
Sun caught in the gauzy white curtains
tells
Morning and reality have merged
First, to dress oneself against the
elements
Today-the cold, tomorrow, the heat
God expelled us from the Garden
To a world where we’d need
To clothe our bodies against its
harshness
While Paradise bloomed in splendor the
rest
Had a hard evolution –the slow birth of
rocks,
The slimy ancestor crawling up from muck
The worm out of the primordial sea
To a place where our ears are beset by
singing cowboys
Our culture inundated with thong panties
and racecars
Until one mass-curl-crowned-wave
Curves over our heads darkly
And falls
Ocean reclaiming camera-phones,
contact-lenses, favorite pets.
WEASELS
weasels
are underground, waiting.
they
want skin.
weasels
are snorting cocaine, underground, waiting.
they
want skin; they want hair.
weasels
are fucking, underground, waiting.
they
want skin; they want hair; they want blood.
weasels
are performing satanic initiation rites underground, waiting.
they
want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle.
weasels are embezzling millions
from top Fortune 500 companies, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair;
they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone.
weasels are keeping toddlers in
cages, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair;
they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow.
weasels are snapping babies’
spines, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair,
they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow; they want
gristle.
weasels are underground, waiting.
Chani Zwibel spent her first 18
years in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but now calls Marietta, Georgia, home. She writes and gardens in a little red brick
house. Married to Evan Butler, she and her husband are parents to a lovely blue
pitbull named Loki.
