By Rodney Jones
Gram of mania, animated pepper,
shadow-monger dressed in panic,
monitor of ghostly footfalls,
it concentrates in its essential tic
the frog leg dropped into oil
and the human shock at the verge.
If it would stop and let me look,
I might imagine the tropic
where it hangs in a hammock
between two popsicle sticks
admiring the iguana’s stealth,
but it does not stop. Hawk-
dodger, crow-pretzel, gallows’
twitch. Spider-shark. Porter
of readiness, miller of the
steady shudder, peripatetic
rectitude, run by the power
of the sunlit rock, it fortifies
Darwin and the idea of being late
and the missed appointment.
With its blue tail, it reminds us:
it will go on. It will not stop.