a fool for love

By Allen Itz

I saw her across a dance floor,
looking like sex in a thin black dress,
talking to a guy with the look of a fish
on a hook, “I’m yours,” the look said.
“take me home and fry me in a pan, I’m yours.”

she poured herself another margarita
from his pitcher on the bar, kissed his cheek,
then turned to walk across the room in my direction,
walking like a wide river flows, slow, steady,
caressing the banks on either side with the graceful touch
of a breeze on a warm summer night.

“I’m a fool for love,” I said as she approached,
“and music and stars and brown eyes
as deep as the night sky is high.”

“and I’m a fool for fools,” she whispered
as we began to dance.

and another tourist finds love on a beach in Cancun,
only to lose it with the changing of the tide.

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alone

By Allen Itz

            old man
          head down
              alone
    in an empty church
shopping bag at your feet
              where
               were
                you
               when
             you saw
             the time

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along the scenic route

By Allen Itz

not for me
the restless sleep of lingering resentment,
I’ve made my bed in open pastures,
slept under the sway of the shining moon.

not for me
the cheerless path of desperation,
I’ve tended the garden,
of my soul’s satisfaction.

not for me
the frantic trail of hurt and hurry,
I’ve lived my life on a slower route,
doing what I’ve done for the fun of its doing.

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asea

By Allen Itz

a gray shadow
that hunts us beneath
the placid surface of our life

eats us from the inside out

leaves a hollow corpse
to float in bloody currents

so it is me now
adrift in the sea of your deceit

remembering

knowing you have already
forgot

knowing that

as a predator forgets its last kill
when preparing for the next

you have moved on to clearer waters

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autobiography

By Allen Itz

  with a hundred wrinkles

s                                         g
     m                              n
            i                  i
                     l

                she tells
              of her life

blackout at the oasis

By Allen Itz

Brother Bill

By Allen Itz

In the flash of a cloven tail,
a second, no more, of mortal time,
the clear skies of the most complacent day
can be roiled in dark and desperate clouds
of sinners and their demons, brought low
by the concussion of your demanding voice,
brought to judgment in a court of no resort.

You are the mightiest preacher
in south Alabama, an unstoppable
soldier of God, at war with the Devil
and all those who form his contingent;
creatures of the eternal burning dark,
future, past and present, they must all
contend with the power of your preaching.

You lift your voice
and tent flaps flutter
in the thunder of the word.

captive to wild heart

By Allen Itz

like a leaf
in a passing wind
I am blown
by the shiftings
of your mood

I walk the path
your passions
lay out for me

and am entranced
at its every twist
and turn

catch of the day

By Allen Itz

the catch of the day
is the time we stay
and the walking home
together

church at old dime box

By Allen Itz

small wooden church
in a grove of pecan
alongside the road

tin roof that shines
like a beacon
in the summer sun

rest here, it calls

sit in the cool shade
of my my whitewashed walls

listen to the wind
as blows from the plains

reflect on your path

nothing ahead but the city
with its crowds and clamor
its sweat and diesel stink

why not stay here
instead

rest
let heal
the wounds of your journey

sleep in my shadows
until nightfall
when the katydids call
and lightening bugs
glitter in the dark
like sparks flying from
a green-wood fire

stay with me until morning comes

perhaps you will see a new way

continental drift

By Allen Itz

continents drift
not true lovers

if you’re gonna leave me
leave for something better

run away and join the circus

train elephants
to do fancy tricks on little footstools

follow your guru to a mountain top
where the truths of the universe
will be revealed to you through meditation
and a salt-free diet

go to new york
and make a killing
in the municipal bond market

go to hollywood and become a star

make movies about all the little people
who made it possible

do something

anything

but don’t just drift away
because staying in love
seems more trouble
than it’s worth

country cousins

By Allen Itz

good people,
in their own lumbering way,
they just weren’t up to the demands
of the time, just couldn’t handle
the competition of the chosen folk
(those being our own prehistorically departed)
and, so, as has been the fate and function
of the fallen-behind from their time to ours,
they died in their caves,
leaving only shadows behind,
myths and fables to tell of their lives,
stories of mudmen and yeti and fairy tale beasts
come to scare us from our childhood sleep

trolls they became, living fearsome and hairy
in the shadows of bridges we build to escape
from our past

diminishing the stars

By Allen Itz

its lights
spread
across the hills
at sunset

breaking the black serenity
of night

diminishing the stars that shine
in the virgin sky

sounds of the city
will follow soon

then heat

then haze
that blocks the lights
that spread across the hills
at sunset

and the city approaches
darkly
in a fog of its own detritus

disconnect

By Allen Itz

short bursts
of thought

smoke
billows grey
down city streets

no connections

broken

gray streets awash
in a gray tide

dreams
   bro
   ken

smaller
   smaller
       pi
e
     c
           es

graypeopleghosts
gray ghosts
running

mind bro
    ken

smaller
smaller

p
   i e
c es

crashing down
in silence
    flowing
    like water
    down

river wide
riverlong
 riverdeep
  riverstrong
   riverflows
    riverlives
     rivertakes
      rivergives

puddling gray
in concrete and steel

t
h
r
e
a
d

thread

l
i
m
 p

lick it
so it stays
straight

lick it

so it doesn’t
flop down
like a dead
snake

make it straight

straight through
the eye

pull tight

in and out

push in
push out

push in
push out

through the fabric
of our lives

bring the pieces
together

smoke

ash

ghosts surfing
gray tide

eyes wide
red rimmed
in a grey mask

eyes wide
in
disconnect

don't shop at lowe's home improvement warehouse

By Allen Itz

gently-sloped hill
carpeted
with grass
wildflowers
at the very top
oak trees
the largest
as wide around as two
long-armed men could stretch

an old tree
tall and sturdy
when the mission
in the valley below
fell to the army
of Santa Ana
bloody cries
of patriots
drifting in the wind
with the smoke
of musket
and cannon fire

earlier
a sapling
when golden galleons sunk
in salty gulf waters to the east
sailors dying
on hot island sand
killed by a summer storm
that swept
across tidal bays
pushed inland
dropping rain
to feed the grass and wildflowers
to make the sapling grow

earlier still
a seedling
when comanche
roamed the hills around
and white men
first claimed
the green shores
for god and king
casting the first long shadows
of death over the old life
of earth and sky and spirits
making all one with the other
fate shifted
changes unforeseen
but maybe for a old wise man
who might have sat on this hill
and smelled the stench
of death approaching

the same stench now
but no tree
shade five centuries
grown gone
scars in the earth
where old roots
were pulled from the ground
paved over
gone
with the grass and wildflowers

all
covered in asphalt
a graveyard
made
so that we might park

dreams of flight

By Allen Itz

up
and then away
with the certitude
of a thousand migrations
that have left behind this dismal place
to follow the sun to warmer days and nights

would that we could so easily leave behind
the cold disregard that freezes us in place

that there were sunnier latitudes
for us to find

that there was other lands
where wait such warmth
as when our love was fresh-born

that we were such as these who never know
the pain of winters unrelenting

drought

By Allen Itz

so dry the earth
  has opened up
  jagged cracks
like biblical times
were again upon
   the land

as if the devil is truly
   under ground,
   trapped
   exiled to lie
between the caliche and
limestone until the call
of judgment day

struggling to break free
   he twists
   he turns
   he scratches
at his cage with fiery talons,
causes the earth around him
   to crack
   and splinter
as he pushes toward the sun

a hose stuck
into the biggest crack,
turned full blast at the tap
gushes water from the nozzle
in a pouring, flooding stream
   that disappears
   beneath the surface
leaving nothing wet behind

and the fires of hell
   burn on

end game

By Allen Itz

words
like stones
fall
graceless
and without pity
crushing dreams they
in a gentler voice
created

I loved you
but you loved the game
and were far
the better
player

fail-safe

By Allen Itz

no matter how
fierce the winds
of contrary fashion
or high the tides
of competing passion

I was sure as sure
could ever be
that we would be
together

but now I fear
it takes no storm
to break the ties
that bind us

only the progress
of time

the encrustation
of habit and benevolent
disregard

and the soft cocoon
that was our love
draws confining tight
around us

how tired
we have now become
in the routine of our
together

how apart we drift
as our bodies sag
to sameness

familiar conversations

By Allen Itz

They rest between mud walls,
in the generous shade of a large banyan tree,
as their hair and beards are trimmed

the indistinct murmur of their low voices
is a whisper in the sun-baked silence
of the dusty street.

The familiar conversation of men and their barbers
drifts through the village
on the weak desert breeze.

final exam

By Allen Itz

searching

seeking
truth in this world of unrepentant mendacity

seeking
light in this world of guilt and shadow

seeking
joy in this world of unrelenting sorrow

seeking
love in this world of absent minded murder

swooping
here and here and here again

seeking seeking

seeking
justification for this experiment in creation

failing

To Top of Page

getting ahead

By Allen Itz

I have the temperament for it

mild of disposition, well mannered,
intelligent, thoughtful,
kind to animals and old people,
supporter of all the best causes
and, most of all, possessor
of a quality of imagination
that would make being rich worthwhile

yessir
I think I have the talent for it
and I’m willing to lay it out
for all the world to see

if only the lottery gods would pay
attention

girl on a cell phone

By Allen Itz

droopy
like a marshmellow
too close
to the fire

leans against a car

kicks the tires

wipes a tear
from her cheek

kicks the tire

leans against the car

rests her head
on the window glass

wipes a tear
from her cheek

hangs up

sits
on the curb
and
weeps

grandpa's rabbits

By Allen Itz

lookee there, boy
he’d say
leaning on his cane

rabbits all over the place

look at’em
he’d say
all over the place

yes, sir,
I’d agree

but I thought he was nuts

half time

By Allen Itz

a laughing piccolo gremlin
dances in the dark forest
of sousa brass,
while center field,
batons flash in orbital antics
up, up, they slash the lights
spinning,
spinning
bright reflections and silver shadows,
throwing them
to the mustard splattered crowd,
then back, back
to the plastic smiles of bubble gum sex
oh sweet
rat tat chatter
rat tat chatter
the second half
begins

halloweenman

By Allen Itz

you mean
you snake
like you was dropped on yo’ head
when you was a baby

osaaama
osaaama
yo’ mama
was a laaama

up to no good
all’a time

spittin’
in the soup

peein’
on the campfire

spreadin’ disease around
like a two dollar floozy

you get away from me
you spooky halloweenman

you ugly
and yo’ feet stink

have I mentioned yet I love you

By Allen Itz

that’s all I got
to say

you can park it
at the fleeee market
babe

cause
I ain’t leasin’

I’m buyin’
for life

so whatcha say
girl

friday at eight

hey jack kerouac

By Allen Itz

All your roads are paved
      with middle-aged angst,
      your words institutionalized.

hey
  jack
    kerouac,
         where’d you leave your cool

illusions

By Allen Itz

life is a slippery slope, they say,
I’m more than two-thirds of the way down,
sliding faster everyday.

so,
how can I be this far along
in the story of my life
and still not have a clue
about the plot?

I mean,
I’m supposed to be the hero here.
how come I’m always surprised
by every new page?

and,
how can I lie in bed every night,
taking inventory of all the parts
that don’t work anymore,
enumerating,
categorizing,
anticipating
all the aches and pains and creaks and moans
that will come with climbing out of bed in the morning
and still not recognize what’s going on?

I think
I must have been a fool,
a lunatic
with the delusion
that time is on my side,
that the universe of all creation
holds an exemption just for me,
a get-out-of-death free card
signed personally by god.

now
I think I must stay a fool,
holding fast to every illusion.

is it is

By Allen Itz

blank page before me
and i must fill it
must fill it
with the story of me
and you
our life and legend
yours
mine
ours
the dreams
the essence
as it was
as it might be
as it
is
it to be blank
between us
my sister
my brother
my lover
my friend
is it to be
maybe soon
maybe never
tell me how
tell me when

jungle fever

By Allen Itz

    rage
lies in wait
like a jungle snake
hidden in the trees
    waits
like a shadow
behind the leaves
    unseen
until it wraps it coils
around you heart
and suffocates your
    dreams

Kabul Reflection

By Allen Itz

Rows of mud houses hang over the rickety city
from the surrounding brown slopes
like a thousand bleary eyes
watching
from the mountain’s unforgiving core.

In the faded club room
atop the Spirazan Hotel,
I drink cheap Russian vodka
and watch the mountain
watching me,
never blinking.

Premonitions of bloody despair
and mountain revenge
follow me to my fretful sleep.

looking good

By Allen Itz

did I look that good
with you on my arm,
and if I did,
how did you ever leave me...

love in the summer

By Allen Itz

not like winter
when chill winds bite
parts uncovered

made for each other

By Allen Itz

it’s a wrap,
she said
                   (she, a drama student for two
                   semesters at Wharton Junior
                   College, said that sort of thing)

but wait,
I said,
my best is
yet to come

                   (me, a late starter in most aspects
                   of life, said that sort or thing)

your best done
be walking
out de door,
she said,
bebeyaba
doowapa
doowaa
waa, ohhh
yeah...

                   (she, a long time devotee of the
                   late, ever so great Scatman
                   Crothers, said that sort of thing)

and closed
the door
behind her

well, snap my
s’penders
and flap my
jacks on
grandma’s
griddle, I
said, I’m
gonna miss
that little
lady, fer
sure, fer
sure

                   (me, a true soul brother of
                   Mayberry’s ever so great Gomer
                   Pyle, said that sort of thing)

and went back
to sleep, thinking
we were made
for each other

Master of the Moment

By Allen Itz

The neon green
of mesquites in new leaf
is splashed on the rising canvas
of darker, oak-covered hillside
like the daubing of a neophyte painter,
eager to the task of coloring the new season,
knowing all the hues of spring renewal
but unskilled in the course of their application.
Further down the draw, atop the moss-slippery bank
that slants sharply to creek’s edge, pink clouds
of redbuds in bloom drift in the morning air.
A large bluebird, a familiar companion on these walks,
skips across the grass ahead of me. Master of the moment
and unconcerned by my presence, he lets loose his raucous call,
to who I don’t know. I always see only the one. Like me,
he seems alone. Perhaps he calls to the memory of a mate
flown away or perhaps he calls to woo a new one, unaware
of his singular condition. Or, perhaps, knowing of his lonely state,
he’s calling out to me, not as grand a bird as he, but, like him, on my own.

Monument Valley, Utah

By Allen Itz

A curtain of dust
hung over the valley
in swirling clouds,
as if the mighty shamans
of ancient days,
the architects
of the rocky formations
spread about like forgotten toys
from a time of giants,
a time beyond remembrance,
had taken umbrage
at our intrusion
into the hidden shadows
of their creation
and had gathered up
the sand of the desert
to blind us to the secrets
of their archaic glories,
to entomb our white hearts
in the Paleozoic ashes
of their conception.
Then, as if a veil had been lifted,
the dust cloud parted and,
in the near distance, we could see
the green and verdant passage
from the baking valley floor
to the cooler heights beyond.

Morning Song

By Allen Itz

A path twisted along the red brick wall
that separated our oasis
from the desolate desert country all around.
As I walked past that part of the wall
adjacent to the sentry camp outside,
the men of the camp began to awaken and stir.
A soldier began to sing
the plaintive morning song of his region.
The sound was peculiar to my ears,
but soul-stretching,
and so in accord with the morning
that it seemed a natural part of the sun’s rising.
Another man joined in with a flute
and its high clear whistling,
with the deep, soldier-voiced singing,
pierced the early hour,
reaching through the cool, morning air
all the way to the mountains on the other side of the desert,
just as it breached those walls
to move me.

neighbors

By Allen Itz

short
round as one of my mom’s
dumplings
grey hair
in a bun so tight it looked like
she’d have to work to blink

she roamed around the neighborhood
in a tattered housedress and fuzzy houseshoes
waving her wattles in the wind

crazy as a hoot
nosy as a goat
minding everybody’s business
telling tales on us kids
even telling stories on our dogs

I saw your old dog out in the road
she’d say to me
you better keep that dog at home
or I’ll be having runned-over stew for sure

she kept a special close eye on the Blairs
in the big house across the street
always taking them pot pies and
king ranch casserole dishes
because they were old
and childless
and rich
and she was sure she was going
to inherit all their money
when they died

which she figured to be pretty soon
since they were always so skinny
and sickly looking and hacking and coughing
from all their cigarette smoking

smells like a crematorium
in that house, she’d say

but it turned out the Blairs were drinkers
and reckless investors in Florida real estate
so they died almost broke
with just a little left over to care for Old Red Blair’s dogs
that he loved like they were his kids

and Old Miz Pritty died about a week later
probably from disappointment when she realized
she was still poor
after all the years of thinking
she was gonna be rich any day now

just about everybody in the neighborhood
turned out to see Old Miz Pritty off
mostly to see if her son showed up
and to see if all the stories she told
were true about him being
a rich lawyer with
a big house in Houston

but at least one person there
seemed really to be sorry to see her gone
and that was Old Santiago from down the street
which puzzled everyone until they started remembering
seeing him and her all of a sudden eating together
at the Dairy Queen several nights a week

Old Santiago was a nice looking man
with white hair and a white mustache
and a straw hat he wore all the time
no matter the season or weather
but he didn’t speak much English
or talk much to folks in the neighborhood
so he was thought kind of mysterious
even a little strange

but he always gave me and my friend Rusty
five cents for each blackbird we shot and
brought to him so he was all right with us
even though when we asked him
what he was doing with all the blackbirds
he said he was making a mess of blackbird pie
and asked if we wanted some

but I think he probably just liked to give
me and Rusty nickels or maybe
he just didn’t like having so many blackbirds
flying around

Rusty was a runty little redheaded kid
with one brown eye and one blue one but
he was my real good friend for a while
until he blowed off two of his toes
playing with firecrackers and
moved away to Iowa or Kansas
or some such place like that

I sent Old Rusty
a real live horny toad one time
in a box with holes punched in the top
but never did see him again

oh, that

By Allen Itz

most especially
that part of it that includes
my 1989 lincoln town car
bought
ten years old
with fewer miles
than my year-old chrysler

great deal I thought

bright
shiny
clean as a whistle

from a cute little old man
and a cute little old lady
who only used it to drive
to church and the pharmacy

such nice folks

told me all about the car

forgot to mention the flood

once, in mississippi

By Allen Itz

once, in
mississippi,
I saw a cotton field,
pretty, I thought, till I had to
pick it

passing time

By Allen Itz

been using up old ones though

sucking
those old memory bones dry

chewing on them
like a dog on a leather slipper

thinking of some better times

times
not like today

today
I’m making no memories

I’m just passing time

pasteurized

By Allen Itz

like a child pressing his face
against a bakery shop window,
I watch life go on without me.

pictures from an american lynching

By Allen Itz

so familiar, these faces,

the white man standing
under the swinging body
of the young black girl,
smiling,
beer in his hand, hat cocked to one side
like he was a movie star,

the two pretty girls
arm in arm beneath the carnage,
smiling,
posing for the camera
like for a picture at the county fair,

the child
in dusty overalls
standing at this mother’s side,
wide-eyed,
holding on to her dress
with one hand,
pointing
with the other
to the bare feet of the black man
dangling over his head.

so familiar, these faces,

like from the family albums
I looked at as a child,
seeking among the pictures there
the story of how I came to be.

so damn familiar!

To Top of Page

rainy day

By Allen Itz

r
 u
    n
       n
          n
             n
                 i
                   n
                      g

off the roof in gallons and gushes of wet wet wet

                               r  e  l  i  e  f

                   lets all go play in the r
                                                          a
                                                              i
                                                                 n

road sign

By Allen Itz

red cacophony
flashing
on black asphalt

yellow sheet
unfurled
like a flag
in the wind

lowered slowly
over the still
form

red
on black

blue sky
yellow flag

road rules

By Allen Itz

highways,
with all their rules,
are safe and efficient,
but freer roads fortify the
spirit

Saturday Night Fever

By Allen Itz

He checks the merchandise
arrayed against the wall,
mind racing, eyes stuttering
as they shift across the display
of succulent pleasures laid out
before him, a sensuous offering
of voluptuous indulgence
waiting for him to choose.

“Take meeee....Take meeee....”

The sly, silent cries entice,
but he holds back, bracing himself
as if against a strong wind. Until,
overcome by anticipatory passions,
he surrenders to his true nature.

Saturday-night feet push aside
Sunday-morning apprehensions and
he crosses the room. Weak before
overriding temptation, his heart
jumps as he sniffs the air. Then,
the battle lost, he licks his lips
and makes his decision....

“I’ll take two of the chocolate eclairs,”
he says, “and pint of skim milk to go.”

shadows of twilight approaching

By Allen Itz

friends
lost in time,
lost to distances untraveled,

lost to death,
accidents, disease,
a bullet
from a madman’s gun,

others
just lost,
I don’t know
where

lost love

first love
simple and sweet
hot
from young fire
restrained

lost time

wasted time

time spent dreaming
when I should have lived
in the moment at hand

time spent living
when dreams might have changed
my life

time spent
settling accounts
when I should have sought a new day

time spent in peace
when I should have been at war

moments
come and gone too fast
to savor,
I taste them now
in my memory,

it too will be lost some day
when I become the only one to remember

and then am gone

Sheriff Jake Kane

By Allen Itz

He didn’t care much for law enforcement
and, in fact, there wasn’t much law to enforce.
Mostly he was a Peace Officer, keeping the peace,
cruising the streets in his ‘48 Mercury black and white,
V-8, sleek and streamlined, the fastest chase car in the county
even though he couldn’t chase anyone more than three miles
in any direction without leaving his jurisdiction.
You can’t be a Peace Officer in Texas without a badassed car,
and small town or not, Jake Kane had the baddest.

He kept a clean jail and watched over all of us. He kept
the drinkers from drinking too much and the hot rodders
from driving too fast. He kept the family fights from getting
too loud and the bar fights from getting too bloody,
He kept the peace by being around, by being where trouble
might start before it got there, before anyone knew it was coming.

Jake was a single man, but watched over the kids in town
like we were his own, several generations of us, stopping us
in the humid dark of summer evening to tell us when it was time
to take our bikes and go home. He counseled us when our wildness
began to drive us and introduced us to the army recruiter if it took us too far.

Jake Kane was the law in my little town, keeper of the peace,
protector of our small town fortunes and guarantor of our virtue,
killed in the summer of 1953, brought down by the bite of a rabid dog.

snake eyes

By Allen Itz

and a small and singular universe
  burns in the caldron
  of unforgiving chance
as God plays craps
and throws snake eyes

the banks of the Masencantado

By Allen Itz

hours of dark
extending

we sat in the grass
on the banks of the Masencantado

flicking chinaberries
at the fast-moving water

watching them
as they were taken by the current

away

knowing time was moving just as fast

away

from our summer of
chinaberry dreams
and get-away schemes
on the banks of the Masencantado

saying good-bye
on the banks of the Masencantado

the dancer

By Allen Itz

   and the tenor sax moans
as she dances, lost in the melody
of another time, eyes closed, tears
falling on her cheeks like liquid pearls

   and the tenor sax moans
as she dances, deep in the memory
of a lover lost in another time

    and the tenor sax moans
over the slowing pulse of a standup bass

the elusive now

By Allen Itz

time is a light
     blinking ahead,
     blinking behind,
a has-been,
a will-be,
     but never
the elusive
     now.
a sneeze
that never comes
     now is,
a buzzing fly
that never lands.
     bits of dust
blowing in the wind,
     now is,
     unowned
     and unownable.
now leaps and passes
     but never stays,
gone before you
     count it.
now is anticipation,
and now is regret.
now is both
     hope and remorse.
     now is
a fragile foundation
for the beginning
and the ending
     of all our dreams.

the moment

By Allen Itz

a gray predator gnawing
the bones of all our dreams

all we are
all we love
even
all we fear

leaving our works as ashes
scattered in its wake

swirling cinders
adrift
glistening
for the moment
like stars
on a clear summer night

the passing moment

like all else
burnt and forgotten
in the end

but for the time it is
it is
our forever

for the time it is
it is

and then is not

The Oaks of Olmos Basin

By Allen Itz

I have my own bench in Olmos Basin,
amid the sounds of life and laughter,
where I sit and watch and
think of you.

the smell of summer ended

By Allen Itz

the first
cold front of fall,
and all the stores are packed
with bundled shoppers smelling of
moth balls.

trickster

By Allen Itz

I remember so well,
the night you said
you loved me,

but now you say I was only a fool
meant to pass the time between
better offers.

What Do I Do Not Know

By Allen Itz

    I do not know
the price of tea in China.

    I do not know
the effect of superstring theory
on the certitudes of revealed religion.

    I do not know
the square root of twenty seven thousand
three hundred and forty three.

    I do not know
how superman can circle the world at
the speed of light causing the world to
reverse in its rotation so that he can save
Loise Lane by backwards go time making.

    I don’t get that at all.

What else do I do not know?

    I do not know
how a hummingbird can fly so fast
and not run into trees and things and

    I do not know
how pelicans can fly at all, front-loaded
as they are with fish and salt water and god
knows what else in their droopy pelican cheeks.

Many lesser things I know I do
    I do not know,
curiosities, facts and fiction, trivial pursuits
good for crosswords puzzles and nothing more.

And the other things I know I do
    I do not know.

    How love grows
    and why it fades,
    why hearts break
    and how they’re mended,
    why we laugh
    and why we cry,
    how we grow
    and when I’ll die,

All these important things
    I do not know
and probably never will.

So, what do I do I know?

Well, that’s a subject for
    another time.

This poem, you see, is about what
    I do not know.