Notes About The Poem
Anthony Biaanco's Of Ice and Men Poetry Contest
Doing Our Bidding
Meeting halfway in the dark.
We could have picked better seats.
The middle mark was what I thought.
No avoidance, we are caught.
Caution as the pilot’s chest rises and falls.
He chuckles and my husband says,
“Do I know you?” He says,
“Give it a minute. It will come to you.”
Two days before, we explore paintings.
We see only one that piques our interest.
The black hawk pilot and anesthesiologist
pressed against our backs with eagle eyes.
She has flaming red hair, tattoos and a stare.
He is dark; tall? I do not know. We are seated
across the aisle. They have the open bid…
And so it begins by 200’s and then
my husband ups the anti. And we square off
with them by 500’s but they want what they want
until it’s too much. With pitchfork in his back,
with cockeyed eyes, with runners legs
they go for the door…to dinner, we’re told.
And yet this jackal laughed and remarked
in a most atrocious way. He was fairly nice…
too nice. The hairs on his head spiked.
But this broke the ice. Now we’d not have
to figure out who they were. Now we know
our nemesis. My husband says,
“I’m so sorry, but not really.”
So when we look at the spread of colors, the wings,
the space between the man and the ground,
we will remember not just the hyperactive artist
but the duel - blades silver, sharp and active.
Doing our bidding, my man was as cold as ice.
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