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Awkwardly Realistic
The arboretum is quiet today.
It is early,
yet too late
to spot a somnambulant space alien
emerging from the thorny bushes.
Do you believe?
I have seen the odd-looking sparrows,
with their razor-sharp teeth,
have fearfully
fed them the toenails of the toothless.
I have evidence,
my face can be read
like a well-used comic book,
the weirdness of reality
is writ there for all to see.
After a downpour
the small, ruined butterfly house,
drips shadows.
A darker than light creature
crouches there,
the squirrels dare not go near.
Trees here grow out of the soil
just as fast as they can.
The slugs cut through new roots,
they chew the rubbery innards,
of any overly anchored oak or elm.
Sunlight is jumping out of its nightly attire,
a superficial normality will soon return
to the slinking park.
It is time for my body to slip away,
beneath the nailed down boots
of a credible fiction.
Tomorrow, my 2-dimensional scream
will be featured on the cover of a coloring book -
it will come with edible crayons.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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