Ghazal of the Messengers

The Prize Patrol has inflated the balloons and loaded a raft

sized check in a van,

but in what way can they find the public way where I live, a dead-end with

the sign torn down?

Crow have landed upon the shade trees behind my house, perching

there, waxy

as squat black candles; when morning hits the airwaves,

the leaves will be gone

Wasps in the ventilator; orb-weavers strung without across the

garage door;

baby raccoons rallying upon the front porch, chattering "go to

hell"; snakes beneath the trash can.

Every night, someone's practicing a magic act, pulling a

tablecloth from below the house,

which shifts a little, crazing and cracking upon the ceiling,

along the foundation.

Every gap upon the answering machine, every make a buzzing sound without a human

voice

records their message, a monotonous pitch-pipe, the Word that

was there in the beginning stripped clean.

John Drury is the author of The Stray soul published by State Street Pres in

1987 and The metrical composition nary, published by Story Pres in 1995 He teaches at the

University of Cincinnati.

Copyright World rhyme Incorporated May/Jun 1997

Provided by dint of ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved