Thursday, February 02, 2012

Landscape With Tiny Dirigibles. Or Not.

The pigeons walked around the parking lot
like tiny dirigibles hovering
just above the ground. The birds’ coo-cooing
sounded like small dirigible motors,
a low humming propelling the airships.

She read what I wrote. She asked, “Are you mad?
Pigeons? Tiny dirigibles? What kind
of simile is that? You mean the birds
are carrying passengers back and forth?
You mean the birds will drop bombs on London?”

“Maybe I should reverse the sense,” I said.

The pigeons walked around the parking lot.
The birds didn’t look anything at all
like tiny dirigibles hovering
just above an undulating landscape.

She said, “The landscape is undulating?
Is the landscape having trouble breathing
because of the feathers flying around?
Dirigibles getting their summer moult,
preening, pulling out their winter feathers?”

“How hard should I try to keep this?” I asked.

The pigeons walked around the parking lot.
He wondered why the motion of the birds
made him think of tiny dirigibles
hovering above a rolling prairie.

She made a face. “Do not try to keep this.
Pigeons are not tiny dirigibles.
The parking lot is not breathing heavy.
The simile was bad enough. Don’t try
to make a hot and bothered metaphor.”

I made a face. She made another face,
and exhaled an exhausted kind of sigh.
“Give me what’s left of your Red Bull,” I said,
“for energy. In case I keep working.”
She banged down the can, and then stomped away.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Pamela At The Doorway To Atlantis

“When All My Words About Britney Disappear”

This Airship, This Woman, This Dream

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