Krikor Der Hohannesian
Spring 2008
THE HORRIBLE BAND
An innocent enough beginning,
the sun a lone ornament radiant
over Ipswich Bay, pacific waters
lapping the headland with the rhythmic
slap-slap of incipient high tide. Gulls,
terns soaring in elliptical loops, nose-diving
for chum scummed in the wake of a rusty trawler
laden to the gunwales with a day’s haul.
Beach roses swaying to the wisp of a breeze
off the Atlantic…a halcyon day,
this day of Independence, this day
of cannon, fireworks, of glut
in jingoistic revelry. Down the rutted path
clomps the band, sui nomen the Horrible Band,
warming to revelry fueled by cheap beer
and reefer. Ersatz drums - picnic coolers
and sticks of driftwood - percuss
the serenity of the afternoon, rat-a-tat
rat-a-tat, … air horns blare…desultory
explosions of pinwheels, roman candles,
screaming meemies wage war on tranquility.
A parade at dusk and a bonfire, we are told,
refuge only in the lee of the headland. Below
on the rocks spilling to the ocean a doe
lies splayed - foreleg grotesque, neck
spiraled, flies celebrating the stench of death.
I imagine her, independent, bounding with sublime
grace across the high meadow and then the moment
of instinctive horror, the fatal misstep…had she
cried out, had anyone heard? I pray for her gentle soul,
watch the sun slip into the horizon of this, her final
day. The Horrible Band heads a motley parade
of Hell’s Angels rejects up the path, the music
a disjointed blather. A teenager boasts loudly
of drinking mother under the table. Dusk
collapses to darkness, a four-story funeral pyre
of kerosene-drenched palettes and old lobster crates
sets the night air ablaze in pagan bacchanal. Embers
ride the draft heading for the stars. Like Icarus
perhaps I had flown too close to the sun,
sensibilities melted in a Dantean inferno of the surreal.
Cape Ann MA
July 4, 2007
I have been writing poetry for some 35 years but have only been submitting my work for the past five years or so. Since then, I have had poems accepted by numerous literary journals including The Evansville Review, The South Carolina Review, Freefall, Sulphur River Literary Review, The New Renaissance, Ellipsis and Permafrost. I am semi-retired, a graduate of Harvard and currently serve as Assistant Treasurer of the New England Poetry Club.
