Rorschach
By Bill Livingston
The spilt milk on the table looks like a giraffe in heat.
The exploded pen ink on the white shirt looks like an abandoned lighthouse.
The close-up of that Matisse cutout looks like a blade in a snowbank.
The pancake batter on the griddle looks like Nazi Mickey Mouse.
The spilled motor oil on concrete looks like the running of the bulls.
The smoke from Coltrane’s brass against black velvet looks like Rosa Parks.
The Kool-Aid stain on the paper napkin looks like a bridge in Selma.
The puddle of blood on the pavement looks like Missouri, Illinois.
The pool of tears on the pillow looks like Staten Island, Baltimore.
The shadow on the lawn looks like a man with his hands up.
The smear of shit on the dollar bill looks like justice.
That cloud in the gathering storm looks like America.
Bill Livingston is a poet, humorist, screenwriter and advertising copywriter who has been published in journals including Danse Macabre, Saturday Afternoon Journal, Blue Satellite, Sic Vice & Verse, Flipside and Mobius. He is a supporting member of The Poetry Project and an original member of Brooklyn Poets and Bowery Arts + Science. He currently resides in Brooklyn, NY with his wife and twin daughters.
Leave a Reply