Daniel Ruiz

Still Life at Warp Speed

It’s not that I’m not laughing.
            I am. At nothing. I’m trying
to participate in eternity.
            The void appears stretched-out
like smoke or a pulled-apart mouth,
            the present like a browned toothbrush
you’re waiting to get paid again
            to replace. It’s gold-rimmed, full
of old water. It’s the lost
            head of the vacuum, that slinky
neck, the body plugged in
            somewhere, whirring.

            *

A man with a calf
            tattoo of a bicycle
limps across the crosswalk
            while every bird bobs
its head to the song
            stuck in it. Imagine
the ruckus: all our thoughts
            out loud. That’s why
we cover the well.
            You tell a toad
it’s croaking, it says,
            “I’m working on my oms.”

            *

One by one, lightning
            maims trees, snapping trunks.
All those broken windows.
            All your foes giggling around
a round table. All your clothes
            sucked into the leafblower
as the interviewer calls
your name. You saw it coming.
Hell, you volunteered.

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Daniel Ruiz is a Puerto Rican poet and translator. He is a recipient of fellowships from the Fulbright Foundation and the Michener Center for Writers. A finalist for the National Poetry Series, his poems can or will be found in POETRY, Crazyhorse, Missouri Review, Bennington Review, Meridian and elsewhere.