Poetry for Strangers: Fanciful

floating houses

i saw a movie last night it made no sense
a bungalow house like the one you lived in in college
was swept away by a flood of righteous fanciful wind
and on a sea of chaotic air up there
were other houses
in one shakespeare and barbara streisand were stuck in a sitcom
they were having a dinner party for her boss and he had to pretend he was jewish for some reason
in another house malcolm gladwell stood in the stainless steel kitchen
swirling the merlot in his glass and said the world
could be divided into either hufflepuffs or gumdrops
everyone just nodded thoughtfully
i was outraged on your behalf
in another house early american rock music pounded from the windows and doors
long tall sally quaking the rafters
but the house was empty except an altar of speakers
pouring out the ecumenical truth of mystery train
i wondered if this was supposed to be the house of the rising sun but then i thought i was trying to be clever
about this time the audience was thinking oh boy another house what is it this time
buster keaton playing tennis with charlie chaplin
charlie mugging after whiffing the ball
buster stonefaced and holding his racket like a rifle
then charlie going after the ball with a baseball bat
buster smashed his own racket over his head
stonefaced
the next house at first seemed it was just a giant indoor pool with a bonsai tree
on a rock in the middle calm quiet serene
but the water surface was musical like a piano
so the breeze across the top of the water sounded like chopin being played by an angry drunk
in the last house the trial of joan of arc was being reenacted by talking cats
i wouldn’t see the movie again but when I got home my own house felt otherworldly like a new planet in which all my stuff
this painting of buddha on a stegosaurus
this taxidermied gopher in a boxer’s stance
the noodle hat
seemed outlandish somehow

For more, visit Poetry for Strangers: Fanciful

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