Like a nearsighted view of Mondrian,
blocks of color so basic the unschooled
are not mistaken in seeing the design.
Cash and carry, black satellite snatch,
a calculation of the notches as sure as
crosswords for the train rides, rickshaw
runs and pole-vaults over barbed wire,
its lean insurgent music.
Memory is a stranger here, never forgotten
because never known and what did He mean,
walnuts and gilded autumn leaves?
Stepping stone in sad waters, a code ripples out,
ripples in on rewind, pause, delete.
A brute, half-done Rodin,
like Triton from a birthday cake
(‘You wanted strippers? Surprise!’)
A field trip gone batty, with Keiko
gambling away her diminished virtue
on the red leather backseat,
a display of vandalism arresting them
where they stood in single file,
muted by what they took it to mean,
and none of the chaperones
daring to enlighten them,
puncture the ghastly bubble.