Nightjar

The Nightjar’s eyes are ravenous

For car wrecks and sideshows

Or

The spectacle of writhing trees

With gold leaves

Pulling their short roots from the ground

To drown themselves in merlot in posh cafes Well past closing time Bark going blotchy and falling off Bugs of every description eating them alive The nightjar sticks a quarter into a coin-op TV Down at the bus terminal

He watches the black and white puppetry Of a porcupine playing a game of hazard With a pelican While throwing dice for both

The porcupine says

His best teachers taught outside the confinement of schools He recalls an old RKO musical dancer

A retired social studies professor

And an Irish grandmother

They all gave him lessons of lasting value

Unlike those rompishly caustical snobs At St. Mary’s he says

They were a miserable lot

They drained a youngster’s heart of life And tied his brains in knots