THREE POEMS by HOWARD KAPLAN
A Clown Eating a TV Dinner
This is the heavenly world abandoning
a mouth wider than a silverback’s hands.
Juggling obtuseness at the center of a flower
for a crowd devoured by each other.
Swaying to the music of a television’s fizzy static,
he serenades under the hug of a banned rainbow, while
never opening his vermilion lips. If he knew of work—
a perfect apparition he would be. Slouching between
the peaceful recesses of a feather couch, he nibbles and
plays with portions of needful dessert chocolate.
A wasted man once a caricature, fishing for smiles
in dumpsters. He never thought about the text that
pricked his gloved fingers, as he painted the sidewalk.
A Man with a Rattail Riding an Electric Bike
I could hear a constant tone, a level hum,
a whizzing of an intricate system in forward
momentum with no external force.
It was like seeing the Wicked Witch of the West
darting by in front of a dull cement-colored sky.
You would have been taken aback by the strangeness of
a man, bald at the scalp, his rattail waving behind his skull
like the string of a balloon floating among rain clouds.
He passed the cookie houses as if in a wind tunnel
linking him to his destination.
His cadaverous cheeks showed no effort &
his dotted eyes seemed to look both wild & focused
across his livid face. He sat with a straight back
on a battery held by two spinning wheels,
wearing a baby pink t-shirt with the number 10,
a coat of arms in bold sans serif type,
his black shorts hiked up high on his thighs,
he carried only himself. Either coming or going,
both the same, since he would be coming or going
either way, each way. Anyway, he was traveling,
that’s for sure. As he passed, I reflected on
whether the reality of the world was held in appearance—
just as fast—being punctually propelled
to ugliness or beauty &
he was gone.
Trigger Model no. 3
We walked barefoot on the warm grass
crunching leaves between
the soles of our feet.
I rip plants from the earth
to see their roots. It is true,
they are the same length as
their shoots.
I notice the joint between
her lips burning quickly,
just like my relaxation.
She passes, & I take a hit.
Gone for now are the jagged
fence posts that I need to fix.
We notice that there are
ripples in the water.
She watches the ripples.
She uses them to tell time.
I tell time by counting the flies
stuck between the smudged glass &
white window blinds, trying to escape
into the mirrored world &
dropping out of it. That is one lifetime—
about fifteen days.
Our resistance is made dirty by
the need for violent stomping.
Sunburned, we lay in the broken flowerbed,
with purple, yellow, & red toes,
as we pull the trigger on
not doing anything today.
I will probably replace the flowers &
fix that fence tomorrow.
I watch the fading smoke hover above,
as she licks her upper lip &
takes another hit.
Howard Kaplan (he/him) is a poet and visual artist. His work has recently appeared in SWAMP, Mad in America, and Cool Beans Lit. He received a BFA from Ringling College of Art and Design in Sarasota Florida, and an M.Ed., and Ph.D. from the University of South Florida, where he teaches, and lives with his mini schnauzer, Princess Leia, his wife Andrea, and daughters Hyla & Kinsey. He is on instagram @kappy_arts.