TRAILER PARK IN PRESENT-TENSE
Your punch-drunk something or other
snores perfume in his recliner.
Outside, a lawnmower strikes
basalt, or mammoth tusk.
An earsplit dog
yelps its owner’s name.
The second rocket
launch of the day quakes the yard.
In the meantime, your wingspan
tangles, becomes gale-torn, too spurious
to remember its strength, ribcage
uncoiling like a silver fern
in acid rain.
The world you’ve been wearing
as a scarf gashes at the neck, butterflies away.
Imagine how embarrassed
the dinosaurs would be if they knew
how rabid you are, how featherless.