Friday, January 2, 2009

Poetry Friday - Quark's Vision

Quark's Vision

Visions are dangerous. Quark had a vision one day
and immediately fell flat on his face,
scraping his knees and elbows and scuffing his shoes.
For quite a long time after that he was forever
bumping into things --
tripping on cracks in sidewalks,
hitting his head on tall doorways,
colliding with old ladies on streetcorners,
and falling out of bed in his sleep.
Before long Quark looked like a poster boy
for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children,
and his friends were asking him what was the matter.
But his eyes would just steam over like a windshield on a rainy day,
and he would mumble something about "eternity" or "bliss"
or some combination of the two,
and fall out of his chair,
or slam a car door on his index finger.
Then, one day, as Quark was picking himself up
from the sidewalk, he narrowly missed being run over by his vision:
Bliss came roaring down Main Street like a subway out of control --
smoothed-out, vacant faces radiating oblivion from every window
as it steamed past, throwing sparks and ectoplasm
in all directions like the prodigal hand of God.
It was the Annihilation Express, and Quark knew he'd missed it once again.
He stood up, brushed himself off,
and fell through a plate glass window.

April 30-May 7, 1977