Friday, December 4, 2015

The Indestructible Oleander

However pleasant or not, the world
Remains reliably unpredictable,
Mysterious heat under a bathroom tile
As if someone had installed

A heated floor. Then a flood.
Surely nothing more than a burst pipe,
A headache, a damage, a claim,
An expense of cash and a waste

Of same. But what if the monster
Under the ground really lives,
The breathing dragon, the tongue
Of fire that licked the stones' children?

A great disturbance is pooling
In this countryside of pooled cubes
Of black lava. It will warm us
Before it bursts and ruptures

The world that forgot that magic,
Even the poisonous oleander used
To invading and surviving, no matter
What tried to take it down. Destruction.

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