Spanish Fruit Bomb

My literary inclinations
were given to me by a grateful neighbor
for saving her cat.
Meaning, problem of,
so I drove a hundred and fifty miles
to buy a book.
Later at parties I passed around
a few drawings concerning the Tyrol.
But things could go wrong,
they could get loused up.
Look what happened to the Impressionists.
What a melon that was.
If this wine is a Spanish fruit bomb
I am the nymph of porridge,
sent to Earth to shovel mounds of it
from off the horizon.
Usually the radiant is a small area
but not today—
suddenly I am seized by the horrible
unbreakable bond that exists between all things,
and strongest of all is the bond between things
that have nothing in common.
Here, take a few drawings concerning
the snail in Gothic marginal warfare.

Copyright © 2008 Mary Ruefle All rights reserved
from Gulf Coast
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission