Or Do I Have It Backwards
Somewhere in the closet
there must be a stack of lace-paper doilies left over
from last Valentine's skirmish at the chain-link fence surrounding
that great romantic, the Heart - like King Kongdoomed to escape: we watch the scented white handkerchief drift down
to where the huge beast hunkers, deep in the hold of the ship
- his savage face lifting. We sniff, sniff the air: Spring
lurks in the next crocus.Even as you read this, you're at risk, for the printed word we're told
heads straight for the left brain
which is on the right side and busy criticizing the technique
of the cameraman while the right brain, which is all wronggrows moist as Donald Sutherland bends to kiss Jane Fonda in Klute
when she has that fever and is finally vulnerable. Never mind
the details, it's that damp clinch: Head wrestling Heart
- oh don't draw the blinds!I think I'll phone him. Maybe I can get the number
from that friend of his with the handsomely ravaged face,
the one we met by chance that rainy night at a highway phone booth
dialing his mistress who didn't answer.