Olimpia Poem by Morgan Michaels

Olimpia



'The way I look at it' she said
unscrewing the cap and rolling
a longish pill from a small vial,
tan and smooth, with rounded edges-
a girl-from-Ipanema of a pill,
into the palm of her hand,
'We are like thirsty houseplants
that curl up, sink into themselves
and wither-shrivel.

'What do you mean'? , I said.

'Bright, high-achieving dolls'
she continued, like that
talented chick in the Offenbach opera
but we run out of steam'.
'Cheers', she said, interrupting herself,
and onto her tongue slipped the pill:
her swallow muscles moved and stood still.
Don't think, just do-
Too much thinking messes you up'.

'What do you mean'? I said.

'Just add water', she gulped-
sparkling, ropey, New York tapwater,
and the plant lives to die again. Why?
who knows. Better not ask.
Voila! A flower.
Wind the tired doll up with a big key-
One, two, three noisy revolutions
and again she begins to dance and sing
and everyone is thrilled'.

'What do you mean'? I said.

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