— Tom Rimel
I’m the Countess Aphasia
A bonbon stuffed with nutty
nougat of incessant sticky thinking,
a gauze red onion sauteed soft
and lost as cotton candy on a tongue,
the crispy skin of rare rump roast,
the cardboard nails on pickled bruise,
a blinking maraschino soaked in scotch,
a mouth too dry to spit at God.
I’m encrusted silver blue permanent
proof that fate picks everything wrong.
I’m smarter than my life-I am I am-
The only words to reach my lips-I was I was-
An eye plump and piercing, a dashing man’s spitfire,
sleeveless pleated white, crashing wavy black
bristles shocked and splayed, a tolling frizzy belle
coyly coaxing teasing salty hope for kisses,
proper noun to perfect verb to pregnant pause
past kettle corn and chocolate fudge and lemon ice,
clasping hands and strutting clever down a Jersey
seashore promenade, its boards long washed away.
(Aphasia: Impairment of the power to use words usually resulting from brain damage.)