..... poetry .....



"The Morph"

Each night,
   my car gently ascends through the woods
   to take me home, 
   where drunken deer and self-important raccoons 
   vie to share the road with me.

My car senses the energy
   of that human-savvy wildlife.
Each turn, 
   an opportunity to reciprocate
   their watchfulness and inevitability.

Once I reach the top of the hill, 
   I put the car in neutral and begin
   my silent descent, 
   knowing what will ensue. 

I call it, simply, The Morph.
As soon as I 'cross over',
   I am witness to a Divine Intervention 
   of one radio station co-mingling, 
   with another,
   sometimes abruptly,
   usually gradually.

I coast as slowly as physically possible, 
   careful to not lose 
   one ounce of irony, 
   one taste of stylistic confusion,
   one moment of sonic interfusion.

I throw all allegiance to rationality out the window when I:

swoon to a Brahms clarinet sonata
   being overtaken by molten prog rock,
sway when blues queen Ma Rainy 
   melts into ever-current Robert Glasper’s hip-hop,
smile when a show on nanotechnology 
   transposes into bible-thumping Sunday morning preaching, and
squeal with delight when our President is gradually drowned out 
   by a nature special featuring frogs, bugs, and coyotes. 
Surely, we do not need to be sound-savvy superhumans
   to relish in
   The Morph. 


August 2018




©2018, Michael Smolens