Melted SpongeBob popsicle in Central Park or the poet encounters a beautiful place and
loses something of value.
1.
Its eyes sat there in a melted puddle
Of sugars and food dye. I looked back
And saw my parents death
A trick of light laughing around it’s milk white
Pupilless eyes
gazing upward into a cloudy
New York sky.
My own staring down at this strange,
pristine figure.
2.
How to gather attention.
Step 1:
Fall onto the sidewalk and decay in beautiful
Swirling oils.
Step 2:
A child weeps over you, parent makes shushing noises, or angry whispers, or placates with
another
SpongeBob Popsicle.
Step 3:
A poet notices you. He makes his wife stop in the middle of a busy Central Park walkway. She
Indulges him for a moment. Not a second longer. The poet leaves, thinking about his own
Parents’ death.
Step 4:
Its eyes sat there in a melted puddle
Of sugars and food dye. I looked back
And saw my parents death
A trick of light laughing around it’s milk white
Pupilless eyes
gazing upward into a cloudy
New York sky.
My own staring down at this strange,
pristine figure.
2.
How to gather attention.
Step 1:
Fall onto the sidewalk and decay in beautiful
Swirling oils.
Step 2:
A child weeps over you, parent makes shushing noises, or angry whispers, or placates with
another
SpongeBob Popsicle.
Step 3:
A poet notices you. He makes his wife stop in the middle of a busy Central Park walkway. She
Indulges him for a moment. Not a second longer. The poet leaves, thinking about his own
Parents’ death.
Step 4:
The eyes remain, staring at the sky. It is a cloudy day and many people are dressed like it is
winter. It is not winter.
Step 5:
Truth is not a relic. It exists in the puddle of violent yellow SpongeBob. Look upon it. And gaze
upon the single truth of humanity.
Step 6:
Be swept away by someone with a high-powered washer while they think of the someone laying
in their bed. The tender flesh of their skin. The soft touch of hair tickling neck. The stubble
reaching from chin to chin. The lips of desire. Their eyes, each a brilliant tide pool of flesh and
tissue knitted together in muscle.
You are not their god. You are a child’s popsicle melting on a cold day.
3.
A homeless man
Asked me for change.
I didn’t give it to him.
Didn’t even look at him.
I have $9 dollars in my wallet.
winter. It is not winter.
Step 5:
Truth is not a relic. It exists in the puddle of violent yellow SpongeBob. Look upon it. And gaze
upon the single truth of humanity.
Step 6:
Be swept away by someone with a high-powered washer while they think of the someone laying
in their bed. The tender flesh of their skin. The soft touch of hair tickling neck. The stubble
reaching from chin to chin. The lips of desire. Their eyes, each a brilliant tide pool of flesh and
tissue knitted together in muscle.
You are not their god. You are a child’s popsicle melting on a cold day.
3.
A homeless man
Asked me for change.
I didn’t give it to him.
Didn’t even look at him.
I have $9 dollars in my wallet.
Elijah Woodruff (He/Him) is a high school English teacher who doesn’t do it for the money but wouldn’t mind being paid a little more. He spends his free time drinking way too much coffee and hanging out with his wife. You can find him on twitter: @Woodrelli
Beaver Magazine 