An Ode to the Goose upon the Hill
a poem and a reflection
I see you there, higher than I, more akin than I,
chest puffed out, a shorter Napoleon,
and you squawk your talk at other geese.
You’re brownish mixture cut sharply into halves,
the yellow goslings—why does yellow fade?—
march up gawking at the sturdy mount
of your bird legs.
Resolute, I see you in the crosshairs
blowing kisses off your feathers
coaxing melodic squaws from my lips.
You bastard.
The car horn behind me squawks,
goose upon a hill flaps his wings as I drive away. A Reflection:
Have you ever had those funny little thoughts that pop into your head? Thoughts like: what’s the equivalent of the Roman Empire for geese? Just me? Well so be it. This poem looks at thoughts like those.
Oftentimes I find myself over-romanticizing things. I see some person, place, or thing and start to paint a picture of what could be. Maybe that person is a descendent of an ancient warrior. Or perhaps that tumbledown shack that the homeless occupy used to be the site of an infamous mafia meeting. I think, at least in part, these thoughts are products of a well-oiled imagination, which is a wonderful thing. Imagination brings color to the world and allows us to see more than we might first think. At the same time, the imagination can trap you inside of itself. Its a wonderful place to escape to, but eventually you have to act and live in the real world. That does not mean the imagination goes away—far from it! It’s a critical faculty. But like the man in this poem, sometimes its better to just drive the car!