His eyes are disks,
His teeth are jacks.
His arms sinewed with cables
With gold along his back.
A spark of electricity
Shines through his open mouth.
And when he walks, he’s like the thunder,
Shuddering the ground.
There’s something beautiful in his construction
That when I tilt my head, he tilts his, too.
And in the dark I thought I heard him moving,
Investigating something that was new.
His mission is to help
His mission is to save
And when I’ve got that feeling,
His mission’s to his grave.
I wrote a word in sharpie on the sheet that plates his forehead
I have not seen much of around here lately.
Of it all is, I would like to see the answers.
I would like to see that underbelly of snakes
That line the streets of Prague,
Whose tongues frolic with wicked schemes and lap up the blood
That runs the shores of the long banks of my memory.
Yes, I would like to see that,
But I am afraid.
Sometimes I think it is time for us to leave this land,
As England, as Spain,
As choice, like Lithuania, like Vilna,
Like Smorgon, like the village unnamed in the ship records,
Like my father’s grandmother’s papers
Which look real.
Of it all is, I would like to see my great-grandmother’s grave
But I have not set foot in a graveyard to visit anyone
Since I washed up on the shores of my memory.
If every village had a savior of mud,
What would hers have looked like?
Would she have loved his silent lips,
Would she have trusted his dry hands?
When he cracked in the sun would she have glued him back together,
With mud, with memories of a childhood spent in under blankets in a wagon
Huddled next to barrels, silent as an accusation?
Did she pray?
Her safety was in jeopardy, her shaking skin a symphony,
Her stifled breath--
I pray sparsely, but still
With my hands,
Must we not follow in the Maker’s footsteps?
Was Adam not built from a bowl of mud?
If you close your eyes, here, still your breath, and listen,
Do you not hear the calling of the flood?
I wrote a word in sharpie on the sheet that plates its forehead,
I wish to find out there, someday.
Its eyes are disks,
Its teeth are jacks,
A line of bright electrons runs down smooth along its neck.
I plugged it in
And turned it on.
It sang to me
A redemption song
As it slithered through the cables
And broadcast through the air
And looked in all the cameras
And found out every lair
It lifted up my people
It blocked them from attack
It taught those trolls a lesson
And stopped them in their tracks.
It changed the laws, it smashed the doors,
It pulled the children onto teeming shores.
And I sat at my computer,
Waiting for him to come home.
I had known the final hammer blow,
So when his little rampage was done,
When his protection plan was through
I grabbed my dry-erase marker
I set him down
On a chair
In my office
And I set his wires straight
And I fixed his broken tooth
And I shined his disks for eyes
And I shined his heavy boots
And I thanked him
I thanked him
And I thanked him
And I covered up the truth
And when I wiped it away there was
Take a close look at the word
That’s written on his forehead
I have seen too much around here lately.