Poem — Bill Nelson

Let me tell you about one more statue

 

This one is a jazz man lying on his side.
One knee raised, chipping away at a gimlet.

The ruffles of his shirt spill down below his chest
over the pedestal and onto the floor.

This one is the shadow of a building large and looming
legs tucked under like a pigeon.

All statues are the same.
Moving around when you’re not looking shifting from one shape to another.

This time it’s a conquistador on horseback, sword raised head streamers streaming.

And now the horse has lost its rider gained a mountain.

Don’t move. Don’t blink. Don’t let your lungs collapse.

Next time it’ll be you, or behind you breathing down your neck.

—Bill Nelson

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