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In My Best Hushabye
by Philip F De Pinto
I
From here on
I am well prepared for your poodle
To come begging stealing or to borrow
From my kit and kaboodle
But not so how to deal with her pissing
In the puddle of my sorrow
Which I had planned to draw from the morrow
When the blue moon and heron in me come to sate their thirsty and dolorous fate
If your mind
Had more scruples missing
Were it broader
You'd find
Some reason to think
That nutting myself
On a persistent basis
Is an exercise in humility
And not a depravity
A limbering up if you will until
Such empathetic time you welcome
Me on board and not be such a hoarder
Of your convoluted sex
II
There is something of a hex in the air
Not quite certain where
But I trust it will remain suspended there
If not? What usage to me is trust and uncertainty?
I wondered if I should be more than merely trusting
That there was something of a hex suspended in the air?
But that I should peak my curiosity
And actually seek it out - this something
As had a flair for such suspension?
I suppose it was to relieve tension
But there was a petite red head jogging in the distance
Who could care less
About things suspended in the air
Who cared even less
How much fuel was required for such
To remain suspended there?
In the upper registers of my laizzes faire?
Which left it to myself alone to find discover what this something was
And not the petite red head jogging in the distance
Without a care.
This wasn't always the case.
Given she was not always a rouge head or distant or jogging or uncaring.
On the contrary, she was as endearing and concerned a creature, forthright and giving
As one could get and not in the least hoarding her sex.
And as it was left to myself alone
I began climbing up the rungs of my DNA
To meet up with the thing suspended in the air
In the upper registers of my laizzes faire
And was stopped momentarily by an odd numeral
I found curiously written on the seven thousand and forty first rung;
That odd and curious numeral being - One!
I looked at the rung and inquired the rung - One, in reference to what?
The rung made no reply.
And as it was not requisite or required of rungs, of one's DNA to reply or whet
The inquisition of one inquiring, I walked further up
Until my uncertainty and trust were peaked,
About that something of a hex suspended in the air.
And as was the usual thing to do in such case as one is sate,
I started making my way back down, to meet my diligent baby
At the foot of the ladder and saying in my best hushabye.
III
Hush baby.
Hush now.
There is nothing
Of a hex suspended in the air,
That you should bother your petite rouge head about.
Nothing that is unknown to you.
Hush baby.
Hush now.
Cease your asking my forgiveness,
And forgetfulness,
As there is nothing
To forgive or forget.
You were simply being yourself.
And who could blame you for that?
But in the case you weren't just being yourself
And there is something to forgive and forget
I say --------------------
Whose got the time or the stamina or the will to tote
Such a mechanism as will do these things?
As will make you feel lighter for the remainder of the trip?
And given, I have my own lighter interests to consider,
You will pardon me, if I nix toting around such a cumbersome mechanism.
And so, whatever you had intended me to forget and forgive, baby,
I'll just let slide, given the remainder of this trip, I am traveling lighter
And higher than that something of a hex suspended in the air.
And it will be the turn of that something suspended there
To climb the rungs of its own DNA, if it would peak its curiosity,
Concerning my own hexes which would do that hex one better,
If it so trusts that I am there or isn't quite certain?
Otherwise, what usage to a hex would be trust and uncertainty?
05/15/2014 Posted on 05/15/2014
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 05/19/14 at 09:52 PM From line to line you make your case keeping the reader a bit suspended as to what would be the ending. Nothing hexed in the reading! |
| Posted by Gail Wolper on 08/08/14 at 01:02 AM When the blue moon and heron in me come to sate their thirsty and dolorous fate
This and some other lines in here are just fabulous... |
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