Yes, I have chosen a Poet of the Week: Martin Espada, who was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in 2007. I chose him because I am totally unfamiliar with his work, and I wanted to find a new favorite poet.
Tonight's poem is weird. Kafkaesque even.
Saint Marty hopes he doesn't wake up as a bug tomorrow morning.
My Cockroach Lover
by: Martin Espada
The summer I slept
on JC's couch,
there were roaches
between the bristles
of my toothbrush,
roaches pouring
from the speakers
of the stereo.
A light flipped on
in the kitchen at night
revealed a Republican
National Convention
of roaches,
an Indianapolis 500
of roaches.
One night I dreamed
a giant roach
leaned over me,
brushing my face
with kind antennae
and whispered, "I love you."
I awoke slapping myself
and watched the darkness
for hours, because I realized
this was a dream
and so that meant
the cockroach did not really love me.
Well, thank you for some gross imagery to start the day! :-)
ReplyDeleteYou deleted the last lines to the poem. There are more to the poem, but you cut it off.
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