Meditating on a Bottle of Salad Dressing

by Samuel Derrick Rosen

There's a man in a Mackintosh reading Harper's Bazaar,
I think many things are bizarre,
I think the possibility of things not being bizarre
is bizarre.
Sometimes I'll have a great notion,
doesn't everyone?
I dreamt I fought in the civil war
in the Wonderful USA.
My neighbor, 92 years old, says he's nobody's fool,
is he somebody's shaman?  Possibly.
Twilight; I have purposefully forgotten my age.
I remember almost drowning in a swimming pool.
I deliberately jumped in
just to know the sensation of drowning.
I feel like the accused in a court
waiting to hear the verdict.
I know time won't run out, not really, I think to myself
From the terrace I see all kinds of things.
A priest in the window of a church
drinks from a silver chalice, it's not really silver,
it just looks like silver.
People on the street
prepare for a long hot summer,
hustlers on the roof hiss at themselves.
Women look like they're looking
for new kinds of love,
kids demand pocket money,
grandmothers peep through torn curtains,
there are moving targets everywhere.
I hope this is not the road to perdition.
I hope somebody up there likes me.
Everyone seems to be in some form of outrage,
at what I do not know.
I know if I chase the bees I will most likely get stung,
I wait instead
for the moment we discover where the money is,
the day the empire falls.