Cheateau Wichman by Ben Pease Back Forward


the trees took off
their clothes
their fingers toward
The Wichman

it's all mustard to me
he grinned
          playing underdog
with a swing full of gooseberries

                       the dog walk
became a run

               the playground a field
of impalpable statuary

the merry-go-round
took a turn
for the morose

and The Wichman
                        made a face
that many would attempt
to carve likenesses of

into the hundred
autumn gourds
appearing on shelves
                           as abruptly
as the season changed
               and skimpy female
referee costumes
invaded our lives

The Wichman
disinterested by the human
desire to know
had his nose
                      in books
     though much did he have
                   his pen

            I love you
                         won't you
tell me your name
date of birth
              and social security

the frieze
of girls holding
over their breasts

the scattering bluebirds
        a contiguous wreck
of nerves

look up vehicular
in the Dictionary
                         you'll see
           a self-portrait
of The Wichman most satisfied
      that the sculptor
                 refused to distinguish
        where the grapefruit
             began where the breast
            The Wichman
milk bottle bowling
           the surrendered leaves
twice stilled
     since the last gust of wind
                           had passed
the almshouse
                  the tree house
the doghouse
                  all pocked
with the branches' shade
the whole stand
     of oak    stone pine
and purple ash

the reeling earth
          allowed The Wichman
to stand upon her
                          stretch his arms
and crack another beer