The man sits on a hard rock in numbness
content to be just an unsung piece of heavy metal
not dissimilar to the inscrutable Mona Lisa
of the renowned enigma and all that jazz
only he can add a third dimension to the art
surreal headbanging alloy through my eye’s corner
yet when I seek, he hides in nudity, head bowed
submission, he’s home, thinking of home
elbows on knee support, both hands cupping ears as I turn
are headphones to keep the blues in and drown
the susurration of blinking sprinklers, synthesized music
from the parking lot, municipal workers are out for lunch
drops are an audience at a heavy metal concert
falling over themselves and raising salts, rare earth
smells just like it’s meant to, a miniature rainbow
forms a band from his right, stretching across the lawn
his wet face is an illusive rustproof treasure, some kind of fata morgana
I feel him seek so I hide in these distant lands
rub and lift my eyes—no hills, just a mass of ants
going about in a frenzy like traffic, it’s crazy.
often, I am he, willing myself to up, unplug,
give up the search, and head for sweet home Blues*.
*Bulawayo
Also by this poet:
- Moving in Issue 1
- Hands Down in Issue 1
Joyce Chigiya (Mrs) is a schoolteacher by profession. She is a novice poet as well as a music student. She is particularly interested in the mbira instrument. Mrs Chigiya has had a number of poems published in anthologies as well as online. Currently she is working on a project that involves music and poetry reading.