ON DEATHLY SNOG

ON DEATHLY SNOG
Nathaniel S. Rounds

These being the confessions of a male anglerfish
(Parasite division)
And
Screwball
Lonelier plotter
Named Lowly Bob
Once a free spirit on Marlborough Street in gold lamé suit
Who has been described as the opinion commonly was
As being devoid of brain or brawn
But who as a child of light eschewed all evil
And became eyes to the blind and feet to the lame

I was quickly dying of lonesomeness
Wandering through supermarket trees
And then determined that it might be better to better oneself
By plugging into a female of formidable sway
On a permanent basis
Namely
One anglerfish named Robyn Snow, age twenty-two
Even though doing so
Would lead to my hasty corporeal decline
Leaving only the tiniest of gonads
For burial or derision

I was adamant in knowing my opportunity
And so I seized it like a crazed gambler going
Tête-à-tête with a one-armed bandit
My ears never recovered from bleeding
And my nerves never ceased to quake
My loins were cursed with flaccidity and decay

Still
I yearn to receive my supper and television programs
And encyclopaedias of many kinds
For free
One cannot get such tonic and enchantment
Without cost in these darksome days

And so I tapped into a lonely wallflower
All pretty and educated in things clerical
And found that like me
She desired erudition and its appurtenances
On an unvarying basis
And so I connected myself most permanently
With that formidable young lady

The results were immediately startling
My mind’s eye witnessed peculiar apparitions
Regarding times distant and future and placed them
In the here and now
With a ringing sound and no soothing divider
All newspaper headlines and manifestoes
Of the most misfortunate kind
As might be gleaned from this:

KIDS WILL DO ANYTHING
FOR THE BEGINNING OF SORROWS/
FALL INTO THE FALSE PROPHETS/
INIQUITY JUST FEELS RIGHT/
DIAL DOWN THE LOVE OF MANY

–All thanks to radio waves jarring
With muddy water

I found to my dismay
That I could not press Robyn’s clothes just right
Or be her constant button man
Without heated discussions and provocations
Gushing through holes in our public housing
To neighbors and landlord and superintendent
Our unrelenting discord

On the other fin
Matrimony is private by definition
Even when by insolvency or contrition
It begs for the listener to opine
Most have the common decency to decline
And instead
Resign themselves to glowering
Over cold beans and bread

But no one would deny
That we loved each other
Like Captain Spaulding and Mrs. Rittenhouse
While gasping for water in a dead land
And finding only the sourest of mead
We naturally refused it
And yet
As though by some cruel curse
Its taste poisoned our dry lips
And lingered there
But we would not fight it
Nor would we dodge the stinging arrows
Of so many winged putti
While with restrained fear
We sought the nearest pier
From which to jump
So that we could reacclimatize to our aquatic ways

These were anxious, harrowing days
And in the thick grass of it
We found our Satan-as-serpent
Toppling ash cans in the alley
And darting forth on four wheels
A battered Land Rover
Narrowly missing me
Pushing Robyn to the ground
She with child for six month’s time
I between regurgitations of favorite books to undergrads

I got her into a taxi
The child was not affected
My wife survived a broken leg and wrist
And through a twisting of circumstances
Our romance was rekindled
Until
I began to falter and wither
First my moral resolve
Then my will to live
My Id hid its golden reflection from me
Then snuffed itself into oblivion

The new child’s birth did little to brighten
What had become a room of mourning
And now with Junior gone to raise his own mainsail
And a wife drenched and moldy in a storm of grief
I feel a stranger has thieved what might have remained
Of my crowning glory
A book of words raw with unrefined energy and life
Bound stiffly but affably
Bidding the treasure seeker
Both entry and adieu

©2012 This work is the property of the author.

Amazon link:

ROUNDS & TENNYSON: VOL. 1

(This being the album of regular MM poet, Nathaniel S. Rounds)

ROUNDS & TENNYSON VOL 1

ROUNDS & TENNYSON: VOL. 1

Advertisements

Posted on April 15, 2012, in Nathaniel S. Rounds, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. Really like the second to last stanza.

  2. Fantastical and compelling for it’s on life. The poem took the poet’s life and fashioned a new skin. Perhaps the poet shall live in it?

  3. Wow…You’re a masterful story teller, no doubt about it. If I had a whole book of this, I would likely die of insomnia for inability to stop reading and rereading.

  4. Marlborough St. casts the dust to a handful of the free loaders at a grief groupie convention.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: