Grab Bag: "Eclogue"

[primeideal]

An eclogue is a poem on a pastoral subject (nature), often in dialogue form. I wrote and edited this last spring.

Eclogue
Philip: It’s going to snow.

Theo: Some day.

Philip: Soon. Look at the sky; it’s gray like the slick boulders
Burying the grass too slow to grow.

Theo: Gray is just whispers of rain
Forming battalions, ready to parachute.

Philip: They’re hiding something from us.
Remember that night they threw mirrors?
Those hurt.

Theo: It was night then. You could barely see
Your reflection—you haven’t shaved for months.
Your stupid beard shows it. And that red hat is worse.
Maybe it hurt to see yourself once,
But I’ve been staring at you for six months now.
Give me a break.

Philip: So you remember it’s not just rain.
Gray can be other plots. What if it snows?

Theo: What are you scared of? Maybe there’ll be snowmen.
It’d be nice to talk to somebody else.
But with my luck,
The raindrops will cast down a yellow limb,
Their general boom out an order,
And you’ll be all wet. Again.

Philip: But I feel so cold. I can’t move my arms.

Theo: You’re a gnome.

Philip: And the flowers are curling, brown and scared.

Theo: They’ll show their faces
When they are ready. You can trust
Them to be regular, at least.

Philip: Not like the bullet holes.
The nights after the cloudy days
They get taped over till you can’t tell north.

Theo: Of course you can tell north.
You’re facing north. You’re always facing north.

Philip: Not always. Last year I faced west.

Theo: Whatever. It’s not like you’re going anywhere soon.

Philip: Exactly! They’ll just let us freeze out here.
They’ve forgotten us.

Theo: The green jack-in-the-dirts gave up.
They got abducted too many times
To climb out of the shelters underground.
The flowers’ side has won.

Philip: Or they are dead.

Theo: A hole that makes dirt spray up everywhere
In spring turns into a flower, by summer.
And in the fall, the pubescent trees blush.
We’ll get back to the winter room. You’ll see.