Heart so bold,
Ford so Chevy,
Soul so cold.
Eyes so blue,
Feet so wide,
Giant so true,
Tongue so tied.
Smile so nice,
Voice so shy,
Once so twice,
Low so high.
Porsche so clean,
Road so slick,
James so Dean,
Death so quick.
Clarice may, or may not, be hearing
Yet I can assure you,
I still listen for any bleat
They make throughout the night.
And like her, I would save them—
If only I were able.
However, I require my sleep,
And other dreams, even more terrifying,
Compel me to take medication,
Placing me in the deep zone—
Halfway between a heaven and hell
I am forced to imagine.
Ah, yes, but, dear, sweet Clarice…
What has fate prepared for her?
Is she condemned to chase criminals
Across crooked lines the FBI has drawn,
Merely to capture Public Enemy #1?
Perhaps, it would be better
If she simply returned to Montana
And made penance with the flock;
It might do wonders for her soul.
As for me, I also need a break—
Miles away from all the clamor
My mind finds to spook me.
Now, the lambs are sheep—
Far too plentiful to count.
Bart Edelman’s poetry collections include Crossing the Hackensack (Prometheus Press), Under Damaris’ Dress (Lightning Publications), The Alphabet of Love (Red Hen Press), The Gentle Man (Red Hen Press), The Last Mojito (Red Hen Press), The Geographer’s Wife (Red Hen Press), and Whistling to Trick the Wind (Meadowlark Press). He has taught at Glendale College, where he edited Eclipse, a literary journal, and, most recently, in the MFA program at Antioch University, Los Angeles. His work has been widely anthologized in textbooks published by City Lights Books, Etruscan Press, Fountainhead Press, Harcourt Brace, Longman, McGraw-Hill, Prentice Hall, Simon & Schuster, Thomson/Heinle, the University of Iowa Press, Wadsworth, and others. He lives in Pasadena, California.
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