Inspired by a line in TS Eliot’s “The Hippopotamus”
I.
The BROAD-BACKED hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud
and there are no golden reeds, flailing and
floating in dry winds. Nor the anomaly of such a
beast silently stalking Nile waters. Only
the sounds of a man with shovel and pail, scooping his dung away.
Tarka: the show pony ‘potamus. He tromps, stomps, dances,
stares, growls and grins. Because it’s all
he ever knew.
Wallowing the rust bucket current
like concrete pillars driving through
slush. The elephants take note of
his graceful water waltz. Tarka rumbles, bellows, spits,
smiles, trots and takes a bow.
But all as it seems is not, some how.
In a 20 X 12 pen, no place to escape,
a chrome barred sanctuary for those
with no hope.
II.
and there are no people in the stands, cheering
on tomorrow’s big leaguers. Nor little boys
in left field making daisy chains. Only
clip-on ties and stained khaki slacks.
Impatient little hands pick their noses, ears and gum
from underneath the pews. One 6 year old boy
on bended knees joins his hands, imitating his father.
He asks the Ceiling to forgive him for breaking
a bathroom window with a baseball,
wondering if Jesus is listening now.
But all as it seems is not, some how.
On a long cushioned kneeler, he stares up above,
a stained glass sanctuary for those
with no hope.
'Sanctuaries' was a poem I wrote in one of those spurts of voyage, where I felt I was caught somewhere, like Ms. Spears, between a boy and a man. I could not make myself realize the importance of having the great Ceiling in my life. I chose to post this work today, because I felt quite the opposite. As I took the jeep on a 4 hour spin through backroads and unknown streets, I felt the smiley faces in my head take over. With a heart of relentless loving and a stomach full of Ferttita's deli, it would have taken everything I had to restrain the grin on my face. No particular reason, it just felt like a great day to be alive.
So in this sanctuary of the hopeless, I cracked a beer and brushed off the notion that I was lost. Maybe not found, but certainly not lost.
© blake jackson
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