The Night Donkey

Here is a poem written for a friends project.

It is suppose to be of Christmas in orientation, but I kind of lost focus.

You can listen to a recording of me reading it at the

bottom of it at the bottom of the page. Kill two senses at once.

The Night Donkey

I watch over your slumbering body with a ready cross-bow,
unpractical, yet all I’m legally allowed this holiday season.
In the next room I hear fire crackle and spits sparks,
though there is no fireplace, nor chimney or wood
and I’m barely able to tolerate it.

I recognize this sound as the arrival of the donkey,
the one you’ve told me about, but didn’t believe in until now;
the humble, little donkey that nudges you awake each night,
urging you on a journey towards Jerusalem, or some other
war torn village so that you may carry the sins of man on your
back and be forever remembered as “a good guy.”
Other times, he nudges you towards the corner store
to pick him up some pink taffy, which I think is selfish;

and night after night
you’ve repeatedly and politely explained to him
you have work in the morning, and now is not a good time.
Then the donkey lazing after your words
begins to scream. I don’t know why I haven’t heard it.

But now he is before me, treading closer to your cheek,
and I quickly snap off a shot as to warn him.
He hisses at me and just as quickly, spontaneously combusts.
I fear the smell of burning donkey flesh will arouse you,
but you tenderly yawn and turn over on your side.

I am in an armchair and it is Christmas.
I am guarding over your slumbering body.
I watch you like a pond, one that barely moves,
apart from the running mosquitoes
that occasionally break your tranquil surface.

It’s the mosquitoes that keep you from dreaming, you say.
If I had a rifle with a silencer and a scope,
I’d pick them off for you one by one without you ever
even waking, the breeze of bullets brushing past your face
like a soft, calm wind. That would be my gift to you.