The Tin Can Man
The small boy became so good at catching
he could have been a pro
because of all the items
the other kids would throw.
As he grew
he wished for a shield
something to repel
not only items
but also the people.
Just like the Tin Man
but he never could find the yellow brick road.
His world never turned to colour
he lives in black and white.
When he clicks the heels of his shoes
he is trying to go home.
There’s no place like home
there is no place like home.
He wears boots three sizes too big
held together with masking tape and glue
with tin cans tied to his laces
so people know when he comes
and when he goes.
To live unnoticed
is to not live at all.
He only goes out after dark
when he is certain the world is black.
Stray dogs hear the clanks and clatters
and go the other way.
To be noticed and avoided
a skill few have desired.
The village kids call him
the Tin Can Man
said he never grew a heart.
In his mind he is a knight
fighting dragons in his mind all day
for the knight in shining armour
was once the Tin Man who so desperately wanted a heart.
Built from scrap metal and soup cans
welded from the heat of the fire
from the dragon’s mouth.
Rescuing a princess who doesn’t seem to care
she doesn’t want you there
says he would know why if he had a heart.
He opens a can of chicken hearts
pours them in a bowl
cooks them over the fire from a dragon
he has yet to catch.
If only those hearts in a can could speak
long enough to tell him their plan
if someone would just open the can
free those tiny hearts
from their tiny tin home.
No longer surrounded by hearts who don’t understand
separated by the liquid in the can.
Cover it in shellac and glue it to the outside of his chest
so no one can ever ask him again
if he even has a heart.
They will finally know he cares
he just needs some oil.
All those poor hearts in a can
the village kids used to pick up leftover cans
The tiny tin can man always watched
amazed at how tin cans can bring people close
Poke a hole and thread a string to make a telephone
stringing cans all around him
creating a shield of clattering and clanking
Whenever he takes a step
in the wind, he sounds of cheap chimes
with his small preserved chicken heart
over where his own heart should be
his suit of armour flourishing
no longer bulletproof.
Honeybee
And as soon as I wake up
I’m alone again
my mind already forgetting you
making a list of things to do
erasing your name from my memory.
I never liked having sex
but I like the things people say to me
while trying to take my clothes off
getting off on the idea
that one day I could be better off.
Gathering my belongings before the sun wakes you up
everything looks better in moonlight
in the sun things seem so sad
watching people once the day begins
makes you like them more than they deserve.
As soon as the sun comes up
the monsters disappear
you will become human once again
and I will go back to being a
honeybee.
Transitioning during a cab ride home
only slightly more graceful than the werewolf
transitioning back to human form
but I’m sure you know all about that.
Forgetting the harm I have done
as my wings emerge
forgetting those I have stung by staying.
Leaving is a gift
for if a honeybee only stays in one flower
the others will never bloom
to leave gives the gift of beauty
few will ever see.
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image: Pixabay
