Red Sea 
Broadside Number 2



The Searcher






from DUKE: The Poems
as told to Laurance Wieder
copyright  1993 by Laurance Wieder
Wise Acre Books
41 pages; $5.95 US





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Laurance Wieder
The Searcher

Any man who'd burn his draft card 
Will also burn his bra. Those birds 
Who squawk loudest about justice
Haven't got the sand to stand up
When the chips are down. I remember
One time I was mounting this new filly
For the first time when the phone rang.
Heavy breather. "Well,"
Says I, "well pal, if you can breathe 
So hard, why not come by 
For a breathing contest. Hardest wins."
Then she whinnied. Wham! His handset
Slammed back on the hook faster 
Than jack rabbit with a greyhound
Bearing down. That filly. Yes.
You know, I feel about horses
The way cowboys are supposed to
About women. Take Marlene Dietrich:
Maybe she was born a kraut, but she
Spoke the international language 
Like a native, if you take my drift.
Lots of times, when John Ford had me
Sitting on some horse's back
Take after take, until I couldn't tell
Which end hurt more and my spine
Would start to cave in, I'd just picture
Her in garters with a chair
Back between her knees, and mine
Would straighten up. Look,
I'm not going to lie to you, not even
If you ask me about Santa Claus,
Because somebody's got to tell it plain
And, with the stuff the newspapers
Serve up and people swallow, what
Does it matter if I tell the truth?

You've got to think a man's outsides
Are what he's made of. If we had to 
Climb inside a fellow's head
To know himlike spelunkers,
Little lanterns on our hard hats, bumping
Into sweaty rock and bat shit, sitting
On stalagmites, echoing, flickering, lost
While overhead the sun dried wash
Hung on lines, and red leaves piled
Underneath October oaks 
We'd be gophers. So we go
With the hand we draw, and pay
Only when the other guy has more
To show. Almost Indian poker. Sometimes
You have to spank a kid for his
Own good, not because you want to.
Principles can make a person hateful.
That dope who burns his flag may think
He's saying something about freedom,
But he's only saying "No" to someone
Else's truth. You can't play the game
And cry about the rules. Too many
Good men died without a sniffle,
Put aside their little doubts of right or wrong,
Left their wives and families for
Some European ditch, some jungle mine,
Some six inches of Pacific beach.
The sea is calm at Malibu today,
A low cloud sits on Catalina. Far
To the west, waves break
On coral shallows. Is it death
Or sunshine that's the cheat?
A person could take now to Doomsday
Chewing on these questions, and never
Find he's any closer to the answer
Than when he started, none the wiser.



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