We ate mermaids at Catalonia.
No really, we did. Ate them like tuna.
I saw Dr. Jiménez dart in and out of
banana bushes down there
like a pickpocket, a common cutpurse,
but you know what? The man
has his Ph.D., but you know what in?
Horology. No, he really does.
That provides no explanation at all
for the knife and yellow baseball cap
or the occasional insistence on treating
us all to grilled mermaids, but it does
support his fastidious morning walk
and refusal to check his watch, ever.
That, of course, and the unicorn
neighing wistfully at the water’s edge.
Finally! I have totally forgotten about the past
and am focusing all my energy on this bowl of candy.
Meanwhile my wife is taking pictures of me
pretending as though I’m riding a unicorn to work.
Here comes Karen. In a new suit.
Here comes Dan, looking tired.
Then out of nowhere, here comes my old professor
Mr. Wildeman. He has books.
Here comes a throng of naked men.
Here come Lacy and Alice, psuedopoliticos.
I bet they got their backpacks on sale.
(All of them, I mean, not just Lacy and Alice.)
A unicorn strides gracefully into view,
behaving for the world like an Akhal-Teke.
Then, out of nowhere, here comes my sister Jane
looking around quizzically.
Aaron Belz recently published his fourth book of poems, Soft Launch, to a handful of tepid reviews. He lives in Savannah, Georgia.
Image: Camille Guthrie’s Instagram
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