| Television
Bruce Nelson |
|
|||||
Semi darkness in 204 -- But pain can't slip the sensors. Eyes snap open -- rush outside where'sthefire. Nothing. The telltale hand is inside busy, busy Kneading/squeezing. I grab/rattle the rails Of this bed on wheels, moved/locked, In the bigger room, at the end of the hall, Where more machines now crowd Dripping & clicking & hissing & dripping ... My eyes go back inside to pain's theater And who's on the screen, hard to see, But father and son in dark woods Hunkered down for one of the lessons. |
He's got the stick and the tuna can, twisting hard, Wood/metal, squealing the wounded rabbit sound, Whispering, "Look round son, look, look." He flashes his light in the bushes and trees And everywhere there they are -- eyes, Glowing pinprick pairs. "Lots of things eat rabbits, boy. Specially one in trouble. Look, look at 'em waiting." I pull off the mask. The machines now know. They are calling for help. ***
 |
|||||
