Willie Smith

On the Roof

I’m simply walking around. Slowly keeping low. I am whistle clean. There is no poop on my deck. I gulp the drink the dude bought. Right away funny feel.

A lounge lizard darts a tongue into my ear. Licks the back of my lizard brain. When I look down, trying to bare my gettings, the floor has been retiled in reptiles. 

Crocodiles dial nine-one-one, need help with their prey; snakes gulp their own tails; turtles snap at once-a-jubilee opportunity; gila monsters stand not on ceremony; horny toads hop into the booth me and my lizard brain occupy. 

Next time imagine a time way before your times tables. Retreat at least that far to elude the tongue of a lounge lizard. Retreat in order to escape monster spit up the rear. 

So, to sew her lips, I warble to my double, “Lady, how you slay me, now I lay me down to death, knocked out of me the breath, heart by a red ball hair beat. You slay me, lady, with your blade so high and your piece so cute, surely you they would not electrocute?” 

Next day – or is it Tuesday – wake to arrows broken over the welcome mat to the apartment I’m still remembering might be mine.