Chicano Poet

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

The Goal

The Institute for Oceanic Studies
was quiet in the warm breeze,
palm trees told their name

to other palm trees, the sand stared up
at the stars where it came from long ago.
A faint light arrived from a lab window.

She was standing, bending over a microscope.
The Gill Man was excited,
he charged forward, no hesitation

because hesitation in his world means failure.
This has always been Robinson’s weakness,
the indecision, the wavering,

the runningback tackled behind
the line of scrimmage, the batter
hitting behind the ball, the basketball player

missing the easy lay-up. They’re shooting as he flees.
Ages from now, the creature tastes fresh water,
ebbing and flowing from the darkness.

He swims at a fever pitch
until he knows for sure he’s home.
Robinson pays the taxi driver

for the trip of a thousand miles there
and a thousand miles back
before he reneges on the tip.


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