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Friday, November 19, 2010

THE MAXIMS OF MEDIOCRITY

THE MAXIMS OF MEDIOCRITY: Glimpses of Post-Lapsarian Life

1
It is morning. The sky is a powdery white.
Days no longer loom with prospects
that deserve a deeper pigment or pang.
The blues of night and day
no longer creep beyond the whispered wavelengths
of the creaks and sighs of a fond familiar.

Summoned by the poppied aroma of fresh-brewed coffee
you trip over conga drum and African face mask
strewn in your path like thorns
as if their only use now is dishevelment.

2
Once or twice there was a magic in the air
as you thumped on the drum
or stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror
through the mask now showing signs
of dog-chew distraction and cat-scratch curiosity.

Plundering by pets is the most common fate
of objects left in attics and garages
that were once souvenirs of a sacredness
that made you list "Brahman"
before you started drawing blanks

as your most fervent career choice.


3
Yes, I am my brother's keeper
as long as he acts like a brother
and not one more mutha that I know
who votes Republican.

4
There are days you hardly think of God at all
or any of the latest correlatives like Ramana Maharshi
by which he is known. His calling card
with you name on it as partner
is issued to every member of the firm
ament
he founded for days like this when it is
all or nothing
less

--David Federman, Ardmore, September 19, 2010