Tresna is intended
To be read in a left to right margin scan.
And yet, it follows these days that a
Distracted, incredulous attitude is the norm.
It is default; even for that rapidly dwindling
Tribe of mangy, feral, metaphor-mad text zealots.
More commonly known as:
The Literary Crowd; it’s merely
Standard, baseline response.
In my case it merely indicates
The pedigree of a full-blooded
American. And let me assure you,
My comrades, this is a red, rich blood
Filled proudly with a potent mixture
Passed down to me by my very own
Salt of the earth ancestors of
Irish, English, Polish, &
Slash me open—American
Through & through—
Through & through:
All the dirt piles
Of vagrant plots
Against vacant lots;
We all, the small ones,
Top our “War Hill”!
Granite, maple, bramble, &
Pine rococo tangle.
(We boys of gawk; Shelton “shit-talk”;
Plastic gun squawk; sole treasure
Cached in cracks inside hill’s rock:
Pulped, gacked, and hacked
Pages jacked from mag porn
A vintage of damp, decaying,
O! Plastic, yellow, & ubiquitous
Whiffle balls & bats! What set us kids
To slashing! Clubbing around, game or not,
Honing our violence on trees, big rocks, dirt,
Brothers, cousins,—and sisters!
And quite often ourselves. Now take note:
The world famous Whiffle Ball Corp.
Shares my Shelton hometown
In elementary school my friend, Mike Padilla, had
Whiffle factory as closest neighbor…
Can you imagine.
That creek running behind his house!
Trudged through it in heat haze
Looking for frog babies.
One time floating toward us
On shallow creek at surface
In melancholy meander: Whiffle balls.
These balls were mutants; the fugitive grotesque.
Whiffle black-ops debacle.
Hollow, plastic black orbs of various shade
Well. I wanted gone with this.
Blame for New England-style
“Damage” & “Brokenness.”
(Had seed of theory featuring Nathaniel
Hawthorne, Hester, Dimmesdale.)
Kept brief: End Transmission
Near Scargo, Dennis, Massachusetts