Andy Palasciano

Spray Poem

Like Gallagher had his mallet that

would crush watermelons

that would spray into the crowd,

We found a tool in my Dad’s garage called the

Hatchet Hammy.  It was a

hatchet on one side and a hammer

on the other side.  There was

a large plastic item in my

Brother’s yard that had been there

for years and was withered.

It was a base of a punching 

bag that you had to fill up with

water.  There was no water in it

and we weren’t boxers.  But this

old broken plastic item was perfect

for our exercise with the Hatchet Hammy.

We smashed it up with the hatchet

side and pulverized it with the hammer.

There was no watermelon to spray

into the crowd and barely any water,

but when we finished smashing,

the crowd went wild.

Fog

I awoke in my tent.

The floor was like vinyl

and I unzipped the door.

As I walked out,

I was encased by fog.

The ground had a hue of brown.

I was a child and our family’s friend

was a teenager.

This friend walked out by the lake,

in the mist.

He said, “Come on, let’s go.”

It was the last time I 

would ever see him in this world,

but when I dream

or am down and I see the fog,

I hear him revive me

as he says, “Come on, let’s go.”

Rivers

The clouds return the water

to the sea and land.  

And the land forms trees

and fruit from the water.

Watermelon is rightly named,

as it is namely water,

as is all of Earth Creation.

The taste evokes memories

of Earth and water,

unlike much of man-made food,

that seems to forget

the forest and its veins,

that are more like rivers,

that fill thirsty deserts

with life from the Giver.