Every Friday night we feature a short story, essay, personal narrative,
poem, spoken word, or short film for your enjoyment.
Tonight’s poem is from Charles Springer
Hindus think you are a god. They’ve lifted you
from your grassy plain on the peninsula.
You have the heart and lungs of a dirigible.
You are Ganesha.
daft and two-dimensional with ears
to fly. In a dream
I saw you in suburban Cincinnati. You went
from gray to brown when you saw me
and I got pinker.
I loved you like my first pig,
wanted to take you home
but no rooms were big enough and Dad
was driving a Beetle.
Come by and visit. Don’t fly,
as many out there cannot
picture elephants in clouds.
They’d shoot you down
and then you’d make Ohio
it’s only crater I’d have to share with tourists
when all I ever wanted was to have you to myself
and call you Al.
Charles Springer has degrees in anthropology and is an award-winning painter. A Pushcart Prize nominee, he is published in the small presses. He currently writes from the family homestead in Pennsylvania and dreams of living on Cape Cod.