Poem of the Day
1981
By Asiya Wadud
in a world the orange sun resets
in a world the orange sun resets
She bought it because her baseball player didn't want her to,
because her playwright and her President and her Attorney
General disapproved. You're a star, they said—the one
Last night, sensing the signs, Australia’s long-
time light-welterweight champ Kostya Tszyu
threw in the towel on his last title fight
It’s said they started in beach sand,
but now it’s Gobi, Sahara, Mojave grit
the fish sift through their gills, absorbing
While asleep, a man gives birth to an idea of a woman. He wakes and finds it curled comfortably against him.
Then there is the question, how to disrobe for swimming? For if a girl simply strips naked, she is immodest. If she takes off some clothes but leaves on others, she is still undressing, still immodest, her body motions sure to spawn lewd thoughts, as for instance seeing a mother walking with her child sug- gests nights of abandoned passion.
He tells of headless people with eyes on their shoulders,
dog-headed people who bark, one-legged people
who hop fast, mouthless people fed by the scent
“Papaya.” A melodious, sexual word. Like “wahini,” “Tahiti,” “Oahu.” The syllables, sweet on his tongue, promised luscious meat, juice like ambrosia, better than anything.
If the generation wither
twinkling slinky, our of which
how should I
I am being forcibly retained in the land of no repute. Here all the chiefs of staff are too punch drunk to drop bombs on anyone. Liberation is passé for all except a few debutantes who have put their ostrich feathers in mothballs.
The new Commissioner was free to choose a dwelling which suited his fancy. If it did not exist, it would be built for him at public expense. But when he asked for a pagoda, he was given a geodesic dome.