The Thought

As soon as
he thought the thought he thought:
What a strange and dangerous thought I’ve thought.

What if he could wrap it all up
after lunch? Wouldn't that be wonderful?
wicked? both at once?

All the sufferings bunched... in one bouquet...
Whadya say? It certainly comports
with a common view of the world.

The one that says, Eat your peas
and your bitter herbs first. And we've all restrung pearls
or charms at least once before,

so why can’t a man do the darkest parts
of his dying first, right up to the cusp,
right now ― right after lunch?

Let’s have it out now:
the bloody moon and the jumping cow
the boos and the hoos and the blues

and the golds. The whites and the reds
of that nighty-night angel wrestling
toe-to-toe with the Breton maids

watching ― Are they
praying? ― with the milk on their heads
and then just go on

with the rest of the day:
the doctors, the nurses,
the man with the puppets ―

the pills after supper
from those pretty paper couplets.
And then finally

just the firelight
of the constant t.v.
with maybe 30 seconds or so

from Victoria’s Secret to close
out the evening, to round
off the scene.


Image:
Paul Gauguin: Vision after the Sermon (1888)