The Pelican
Have you seen my bed?
I must've sold it for a weekend,
To some dock drifter in Tampa who ties knots around pelican necks,
The bird would catch fish and be unable to swallow them,
And the drifter would rip the fish out of its mouth,
Reaping the rewards of an ugly bird enslaved by an uglier world,
And I think I’m the pelican,
Doing what I should be doing but never getting the benefits.
Have you seen my bed?
I pushed it out to sea a week ago.
When I don't sleep for a while,
I start seeing moving figures in my peripheral and the more tired I get,
The faster and closer they are.
I wonder if they're ghosts realizing I'm more susceptible and rushing in for some
human connection,
I'd sit down with them if I could,
Make some tea they could drink through the air,
Ask what went wrong and what's on their mind,
Play my favorite lullaby for them until they could finally sleep;
The best thing you can give to a ghost is a little company.
When I was very young,
I kept having this dream where an infinitely bigger man than I screamed with such rage that the world collapsed in on my eardrums and nothing seemed possible.
But have you seen the moon's face?
It's turned around and said hello to me on the beach,
Asked what was wrong and what was on my mind,
Sang me the sweetest song I've ever heard but I couldn't even whistle the chorus for you,
I collapsed on the sand at the sound of the refrain.
In the dream,
I was still in my childhood room,
The door was barred shut but that massive screaming man was picking the lock;
Does anyone realize the cruelty of bringing a restless spirit on a road trip?
It’s like bringing a starving man to a supermarket but taking his wallet first.
But I'm sure the moon sang me to sleep because it didn't think anyone else could;
And for all my plans and tries at gripping my squishy brain,
The shifting tides finally convinced me everything was fine or was going to be,
My bed drifted back to shore and when I woke up,
I untied the knot around the pelican's neck.
Dan McKeon is a Long Island exile living in Buffalo, usually writing about buildings or lawn gnomes in his spare time to avoid having to learn how to ice skate.