Fool

Locked in traffic, an L.A. interstate, I watched a man
stand on the roof of his truck’s cab, counting coups.

She asked me to move this way, that way, to squat,
to stand, to leave on one leg, then come back smiling.

Nine and nine and nine makes ten. Blue means betrayal
after sky empties of its geese.

A cancer wanders the blood like Shakespeare’s fool,
aiming for the heart of regime.

Alpha wolves lead. Beta wolves follow.
The omega gets others to play.

Beaches are to the Renaissance as pavement is to despair.
Rabbits to dada. Hope to artichokes. Joy to the feathered sand.

He will step out of the line sometimes to tell you a lie,
a lie old as landscape your precious feet keep gripping.

The President is hovering like a dove over the flood, like
the Holy Ghost, the Paraclete, sending down its white beam.

Under water, before the first breath of God, spirits
who will become animals play cards for their costumes.

When the omega wolf dies, the pack goes into mourning.
After four to six weeks, the wolves allow themselves pleasure again.

Under water, before the first breath of God, some spirits
choose ocean over land, preferring salt to oxygen.

Under water, before the first breath, God places
hidden cameras so he can remember everything for later.

*Richard Robbins was raised in California and Montana. His second poetry collection Famous Persons We Have Known was published by Eastern Washington University Press. He currently directs the creative writing program and Good Thunder Reading Series at Minnesota State University, Mankato.