Two poems by Peter Shippy

Reading Rilke's Sonnets to Children

Seemed like a first-rate strategy, Your Honor, 
A way for me to gift verse to the wee set
Or, if you like, a mode to re-modal raw
Minds. And who better than Crazy Legs Rilke?
I mean, have you Read Rainer Maria's verk? 
No? Is this water free? Anywho, his poems
Are jam-packed with dragons and unicorns 
And a dogged bruin named Ren Karl
Who has this 24-7 hankering for beer 
Which he calls bersteigung! And yes 
Yes, now I see how a hard drinking cub 
On a waverless quest to kill the snake 
That bit Eurydice's sweet asssorry, dear
Derriere? beloved buttocks? could strike 
Some parents and or guardians as inapt
Or iniquitous for the playground scene, like
That plumping dad-type who screamed: Keep 
Your High German away from our jungle 
Gym! I think your Honorette will agree 
That he saw my laudable endeavors 
In a predetermined dark light. I declared 
This in my report to your constables.
I declared that that man was prejudiced. 
He threw Yodels at my head. Yodels?
Your Honoress, in all honesty, can you
Seriously mull the opinions
Of a man who won't even crack the piggy
For a six-pack of Ho-Hos? Is it just ich? 
Is it just moi or is it clear as day 
That those narrow-minded ber-bullies 
Simply transposed their self-hate into hate 
For modern poetry? It's Freud 101. 
Thanks be to the good men and women 
Of law enforcement who arrived just in time
To arrest me slash save my beloved buttocks. 
But if I may engage my retrorockets: 
Doesn't Ren Karl's attitude offer 
A teaching opportunity? A spot where 
Child and blood relation can reach some 
Accord on revenge, hibernation sex 
And handguns? I mean, Ren Karl just wants
To return to those simple-hearted times 
When Rainer and Orpheus would roll 
A number, take a tug from my wineskin,
Pull out their pan-flutes and play for all
The shepardfolk and woodland critters. 
Your Honoris, don't we all yearn for a clean 
Sandbox and a draft of bersteigung?"
 

To Heal a Weakling Child

Who the pluck replaced my lambs
With mist? I yell, but no one deigns reply. 
Mom's listening to The Cure, again, 
Which means we'll drink, eat, and get hairy. 
Father's hiking to the Stone Age, 
Backwards, to erase his carbon footprint. 
Sissy & her caste are beaching
Their lissome shapes in sympathy
With that pod of suicidal dolphins. 
What's the weakling child to do? 
I open our attic window to let 
My nostrils whew a cloud of molecules 
From Smelling Salts Flat. Eureka! 
It's a perfect day to spend wholly 
Outside narrative, wandering lonely
Through the blanderness, wondering 
Where and when that blue bolt of fate 
Might spring out to rake my little pink 
Neck. Euphemize me! Granny's parked 
On our denim divan, crocheting 
Jellyfish for this year's Towne crche:
Christ Dives the Great Barrier Reef.
I know that Nana's the big bad wolf
But I'll never tell. Should I give
A second thought to the blood dripping 
From her canines and the wool caught
In her paws? Que sera, sera. 
We exchange needles and knuckle-
Bumps and I'm off to seep and deploy.
On the corner of Main & Trivial
I see the Widget Boys stapling
Posters to every other Maple. Ivan
& Babe believe that they're the rein-
Carnation of Albertus Magnustwo
Matchless twins for one dead alchemist,
I guess. The Widgets are demi-famous
Maybe you read about their joust with pi?
It was written up in all dimi journals?
They filled the family manse 
With abacithousands of beads and rods 
Were hotwired so they could derive pi 
To one billion decimal places. Like me
They wanted to see God's mug. You?
"God is so very small and fragile," 
Babe said, "That It cannot be kept 
In a rational fish bowl or equation
Because if It hits the side the impact 
Will kill us." Today they're giving us
Notice to be on the lookout 
For Henry, a lost bunny. When I point
To the rabbit in Ivan's pocket,
They laugh. "Yes, that's Henry, sure, but
According to our calculations he'll be lost 
Tomorrow." When the brothers pinch
Each other's bellies and straighten Henry's
Bowtie I bid adieu. I decide to sate
My thirst for the sea by visiting
My friend Kimiko, the fish monger.
I find her suffering a bout of head-
In-the-tank-syndrome. The lobsters
Bop her on the nose with their silk-trussed
Pincers. I use a net to raise her
Talking face. "Diogenes died by holding
His breath," she wheezes. "He left orders 
For his body to be tossed outside 
The city walls so wild dogs could feast 
On his flesh. Rousseau packed it up after 
Colliding with a Great Dane." "Hamlet?" 
"In The Lion King the ghost of Mufasa 
Exhorts his son to revenge his murder
Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Pumbaa." 
One of the silk cuffs dangles from Miko's 
Earring. We watch the unchained lobster 
Use its free claw to crush his brothers.
"No, Prufrock! No!" I offer Miko
A tissue. "Heraclitus perished after 
Smearing himself in cow-dung 
In order to cure his dropsy. The sun 
Fired the shit hard, trapping him. 
He was eaten by his own mastiff.
Your Grandmother phoned. She needs you
To pick up a few things at the market."
Kimiko hands me a list written 
On a newspaper wrapped around 
A pound of yesterday's red snapper. 
On the way to the superstore
A group of kids leap from the bushes
To ambush me with toy microphones
And TV cameras. From our last
Dogwood I hear an emerald beetle 
Recite Li Po: A dewdrop of wine under
The flowering tree, I drink solo
For no chum loves me. Finally, I arrive
At the Soy Polloi. After passing through
The see-through scanner I'm greeted by
My personal shopper. He looks over
My list and says, "Let me take a guess: 
D'agneau en crote?" I shrug. "Iway 
Onlyway peaksay igpay atinlay." 
Is that a ghostly bleat I hear? He fills 
My cart while scatting the store's jingle
la Mel Torm, the Velvet Fog: 
Ahoy! Ahoy! for Soy Polloi
We buoy your oy on utter joy.
As we enter Frozen Foods to scavenge
For peas, we are met by Dr. Youlou,
The department chair. "I was once
A glaciologist," Youlou says, "but
These days that work is tough to find."
He leads us to a food case to lecture:
"Our knowledge base of Antarctica
Erof frozen veggies has changed since 
Shackleton's era. We no longer see
The refrigerator as a monolith 
Of ice whose only purpose is to be 
Subjugated in the name of king
And country. We scientists now believe 
That this is a dynamic, sentient being, 
Constantly birthing flux. Snow or snap?"
Later, at home, we all gather round
The hearth for cider and johnnycake.
Mother catches me yawning and suggests
I go to bed. "But how will I be able 
To sleep counting clouds instead of sheep?"
Grandma presents me with a stuffed lamb
Whose fleece is white as fleece.
With a clan like this what will I be?