Jason Zuzga


Vote for the lady who wipes up the floor around the toilet in the gas station
for the man who loosens the skin from the carcass of a bear
for the lady who minds the machine that spins the front left screw into
          five hundred identical lawnchairs
for the boy who holds his hamster too tightly
for the boy who leaps of the swing and doesn't land gracefully
for the girl who can't skip rope
for the girl who finds pickles secretly delicious
for the man who pulls the trigger
for the woman who opens the screen door to find pigeons surrounding her dog
for the man who opens the puzzle to find it already completed
for the people flying up into the suburban cloud mysteries
for the subway conductor who goes home to a broken recliner
for the people who hear the rhythmic chants of warring nations of clams
for the girl who knows many shingles are on her roof
for the woman lowering lobsters into boiling water
for the candidate who has to pee shaking thousands of voters' hands
for the child lost in the grocery store
for the cameraman hit by a propeller
for the child sprayed by a skunk
for the barber listening
for the woman choosing a new detergent
for the children evolving gills
for the guy feeling his chin
for the lady in heavy boots
for the waiter spilling
for the driver buckling up
for the man on fire
for the convict waiting
for the girl on piggy back
for the man falling off the boat
for the rescuers
for the wary
for the hopeful
for the choosy
for the optimistic zookeepers
for the chatty tetherball team at the rear of the plane
for the beachcombers
for the astronauts
for the taco vendors
for the student in a new language
for the man with matted hair and urine odors stealing a clean shirt
for the shopkeeper who hands him the matching tie


Swimmingly green. Vast punch
of hands and truant children sinking.
The yanking laundry windy,
the dryer is fried, the sheets are clean now and
snapping out and again clipped to the line.
Smilingly swimmingly a yard that is perfect glass
draining and the frigates
levelling down to a new aluminum can.
A glance can box children up. They can
see through windows. I am swimmingly green
racing and rising in the soupy mists of morning.
There are greyhounds pacing and breathing puffs
of moisture dispersing in the valley glare. The mountains
are eroding, the geography that seemed
to be a map is changing again. The waters
come over everything and milk the matter
from itself. The sunshine holds a brass
whisper through the whole yard that tells us
to hold fast to a stair, a branch, an arm.
Bruises happen when capillaries burst in skin.
The bones inside are not same bones although
we both have arms, elbows, thus we can swim.
The architects are blossoming in their offices,
The assistants rummage through crates to build a wall
in miniature. The aroma of dancing
swimmingly, the green times, the eyes
and the pirates, the trees and the birdcalls,
the air show that plows into your heart
and explodes into the field. The greyhounds set free,
lost and drowning in speed.



A corona of valedectorians wash laundry along
the river's edge. The bodies are still all over the place
outside, inedible due to taboo, the echo of music
bangs into your face from the speakers they
have set on either side of the stage. On the stage
is a man. He is naked drawing things on a chart.
Is this my dream, you ask, is it, no, this is
the way democracy imagines itself to be a pure
act of human imagination. There is no way for
you to predict what word I will write on the next
line but really there could only be the one word
that you love which is love which is love which
is love. I choose cowboy who enfolds me
in strong arms, in odoriforous bosom
I feel the pectoral muscles that mean so much now
in terms of fashion. I savor
your chest cowboy. I will lay beneath you.
I will vote for you and all your journeys
among the grasslands, the hillsides, the embrace
of California, and the wind farms. We are smarter
than this. Anybody can win the lottery of education
if they apply themselves, right?