The Second State of Matter
I’ve noticed that progress happens film-like.
A lifetime in a hundred fifty minutes
of chiaroscuro. The Wizard as hero-conman.
How pipes and wires can pipe lightning inside.
How sprites won’t zap you at all, no matter
their decibel. How slippers can save, cyclones
challenge. Song’s a strategy. Skipping too.
Frames (Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road)
are flashing by. They’re reminding me of you.
Our Pacific’s a pizzazz of suds and anchovies,
the sky of stars and sprites. What am I
yapping about? Everyone wants something—
brain, heart, courage. Family in Kansas.
The Cairn Terrier once between us.
And the Wizard? Wings, magic, height.
The most tricky character, Toto, acts as if
he wants of nothing but Dorothy’s company.
This dog’s as suspicious as stains on
an old library copy of The Catcher in the Rye.
Hear me out. When you wear ruby slippers,
don’t bottle lightning and run on EMPTY.
I’m not missing our static cling—I miss you.
Kenton K. Yee
Kenton K. Yee’s recent poems appear (or will soon) in Kenyon Review, Threepenny Review, Cincinnati Review, RHINO, Quarterly West, Poetry Northwest, Plume Poetry, Rattle, Denver Quarterly, and other journals. He writes from Northern California. INSTA: @kentonkyeepoet FB: @scrambled.k.eggs.