Then the stars came up.
And the intellectual tried very hard
To trace out the constellations.
“That’s the Dancing Palmyra,” he said at last,
Pointing at a smudge of stars directly overhead.
“It means we’re in the southern hemisphere.”
“It means you’re making things up now.” I said.
The D#s were more frequent at night.
But no one asked the piper to stop.
Something was washed ashore in the dark.
But no one got down to find out what.
I noticed the plumber hardly slept
Or maybe it’s a little hard sleeping on a shared palmyra palm branch.
He wasn’t counting the stars and yet
His eyes followed their cycle all the way.
Dawn was shriek from the racehorse rider
Who had no memory of dawn.
And a loud swear from the intellectual
Followed immediately by a poetic description
Of the dazzle on the wet waves
And how the refracted rays reach us early.
This time I’m sure he knew but none of us were listening.
The piper had been playing through the night.
And now he began the morning with a major progression.
The D#s screeched in our heads.
As I joined the racehorse rider on the sand.
The something was a little black flag.
It didn’t have the skull and cross bones we were expecting.
But the painting of a small dog
With a pink ribbon on her head.
And a pink coat below it.
And a pink tongue hanging out of it.
And presumably a pink brain inside of it.
Since it had succeeded in washing up
Onto a five-foot diameter island
In the middle of the Pacific
With five people on a palmyra palm.
Which was hanging noticeably lower than yesterday.
And wrapped in the flag was an egg.
A bright pink egg with a small crack across it.
And the intellectual tried very hard
To trace out the constellations.
“That’s the Dancing Palmyra,” he said at last,
Pointing at a smudge of stars directly overhead.
“It means we’re in the southern hemisphere.”
“It means you’re making things up now.” I said.
The D#s were more frequent at night.
But no one asked the piper to stop.
Something was washed ashore in the dark.
But no one got down to find out what.
I noticed the plumber hardly slept
Or maybe it’s a little hard sleeping on a shared palmyra palm branch.
He wasn’t counting the stars and yet
His eyes followed their cycle all the way.
Dawn was shriek from the racehorse rider
Who had no memory of dawn.
And a loud swear from the intellectual
Followed immediately by a poetic description
Of the dazzle on the wet waves
And how the refracted rays reach us early.
This time I’m sure he knew but none of us were listening.
The piper had been playing through the night.
And now he began the morning with a major progression.
The D#s screeched in our heads.
As I joined the racehorse rider on the sand.
The something was a little black flag.
It didn’t have the skull and cross bones we were expecting.
But the painting of a small dog
With a pink ribbon on her head.
And a pink coat below it.
And a pink tongue hanging out of it.
And presumably a pink brain inside of it.
Since it had succeeded in washing up
Onto a five-foot diameter island
In the middle of the Pacific
With five people on a palmyra palm.
Which was hanging noticeably lower than yesterday.
And wrapped in the flag was an egg.
A bright pink egg with a small crack across it.
Since there are always cracks on eggs that turn up suddenly.
The intellectual was all for eating it up immediately.
And we guessed the piper agreed.
Because we heard an accelerando.
The racehorse rider was wearing the flag as a cape
When the plumber suddenly came out of his trance
And demanded the egg.
“I eat one-fifth!” the intellectual was saying –
“Not to eat – to hatch,” he said.
The intellectual was all for eating it up immediately.
And we guessed the piper agreed.
Because we heard an accelerando.
The racehorse rider was wearing the flag as a cape
When the plumber suddenly came out of his trance
And demanded the egg.
“I eat one-fifth!” the intellectual was saying –
“Not to eat – to hatch,” he said.
