3 Prose poems by G. Nicholas Myers
Heads or Tails
I think I kept repeating the word as I was driving along in my car past the
monkeys, past the opossums hanging from each and every tree: prE–´hen–sile.
They were hanging by their tails. This is where I started to get upset, perturbed,
a little annoyed, or at least, itchy. Even though my vocabulary seemed apropos,
even though the scene seemed to make sense, I couldn’t tell the difference
between the opossums and the monkeys. Come to think of it, I don’t believe
I have any idea what an opossum looks like!
Then, getting frustrated, out of my car (and into a tree), I decided to turn
my thoughts to thumbs instead.
A Fly Taped to a Swollen Western Bar Floor
In the corner where the drinks don’t quite manage to get cleaned up and the sawdust and dirt gather, there is a little bit of a buzzing. A certain kind of consciousness under the hand of fate, or otherwise can be referenced as a cruel trick by a snot-nosed kid with a tape dispenser and a match who knows nothing about Buddhism or this half-lit microcosm.
Giddy-up.
Myself Left Over from Yesterday
I used to be in asbestos abatement, not a bad racket for a hologram to be in. Then, one day, the law enforcement came along and it was conscious love against the aging all over again. King David was quoted as saying, "Life is a bowl of cherries--Some in; some out." A young nurse was the only thing to keep him warm. And, so now, a man is what he sets out upon. And a nurse in the arms is worth two in the bush. I suppose…But why stop there?