The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Friday and Dyke Marsh Skinks

By Rodney Jones

Gram of mania, animated pepper,
shadow-monger dressed in panic,
monitor of  ghostly footfalls,
it concentrates in its essential tic
the frog leg dropped into oil
and the human shock at the verge.
If  it would stop and let me look,
I might imagine the tropic
where it hangs in a hammock
between two popsicle sticks
admiring the iguana’s stealth,
but it does not stop. Hawk-
dodger, crow-pretzel, gallows’
twitch. Spider-shark. Porter
of  readiness, miller of  the
steady shudder, peripatetic
rectitude, run by the power
of   the sunlit rock, it fortifies
Darwin and the idea of   being late
and the missed appointment.
With its blue tail, it reminds us:
it will go on. It will not stop.


I had a very medical Thursday. Around lunchtime, I had an eye doctor appointment -- I'd been putting it off, but I'm supposed to get the retinal scan at least yearly because of various health and family history risk factors, and my eyes have been very itchy from allergy season and too much screen time so I wanted to make sure nothing else was up.

Turns out my eyes are fine, but the doctor had been running half an hour late so I took a walk while waiting and found out that CVS had gotten the Shingrix shots back in stock. So Paul came with me just as the rain was starting and we both got vaccinated against shingles -- though not the flu, as they had an hours-long wait for those!

In the early evening, we had a family Zoom call, so I got to talk to my aunt and uncle, cousins, and sister as well as my parents. We had pizza for dinner and watched the Bengals-Browns game in solidarity with various relatives on both sides of the family who cared about the outcome far more than I did. We saw many skinks in Dyke Marsh and here are some:








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