I walk with her petrified trunk
Tucked in a shopping bag,
Breeze sailing the liberty
Of her lifeless fin so the decayed
Leather of sewn-together fish
And simian clucks its drumstick tail
In a ticker tape of discount bras
And bills-of-sale.

Like Barnum barked to his crowds
Hoaxes fertilized by the sweat
Of magicians’ futilely gluing
The vertebrae of assistants
Sawed in half, I convince women
Who run boutiques that carry
My size of stocking or hat
To purchase a peek at loveliness
Rustling in my paper sack.

But I do not accept cash.
Scarves spun from the silk
Of worms spinning overseas, yes.
High-heeled boots, a cocktail dress.
(I confess I love black best.)
Black like my captive’s body
Un-moisturized, mute
As a piece of fruit dulling
To rot on an overlooked vine. 

Last week women traded couture
To answer my question posed meek
As the jaw of a mouse chewing cheese,
Purposeful, yet incomplete
In the mechanisms to growl
A rodent into a beast. Just a tease,
A prank promising shopkeepers
Satisfaction in the esthetics
Of desire hidden under tissue sheets. 

The store clerks lacquered like dolls
Clamber for a glimpse of my make-
Believe, my creature of jungle and sea
Because they do not and will never see
The beauty of their own reflection,
And tire of placing bets on how soon
The appearance of anything radiant
Will make its way past the funhouse curtain.

* One of P.T. Barnum’s longest running and most popular attractions. He bought the Feegee (Fiji) Mermaid from a fisherman who had stitched together the bodies of a fish, baby orangutan and monkey.

if Elvis’ twin Jesse Garon, stillborn, had lived

1.
As the Tupelo Twins bob their abdomens
In murky delta bogs, four hands finger
The frets of crawdad necks, not guitars,
Sixteen and stamping autographs in mud,
Saturday night riding up with Chevy windows
Stained from kissing, canopy of bowing willows
And bayou stars arranged for the dance
Of romancing packs of Mississippi girls
Hungry to devour the tongues of identical lovers,
Presley mouths smooth as if where they frolicked
In the river, its mudmilk churned to butter.

2.
Roaring home as dawn stalks the fields of cotton,
Jesse and Elvis cajole through sore jaws future plans:
Partners in a swelling Georgia peach orchard,
Owners of a car wash with quarter waxes
And nickel shines, twin foremen divining plans
To build T-bone mansions and chicken-fried diners.
Silently they even dream of a two-throned castle kingdom
Rising from the smoky foothills of Tennessee as sun
Sneaks between the confidences of Southern brothers.
Sharper than the belly rub of serenading bugs,
One prince’s laughter mirrors, identifies,
Then crowns the other.

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