Opportunity

An opportunity comes out of pain
Like the sore knuckles tired of writing,
Like the stiff neck twisted by tension,
Like the blood-shot eyes blinded by tears,
Like an ossified jaw shut like a mousetrap.

Mummified at the typewriter, stiffened into a pose—
There are many words for loneliness
But never such a metallic expression
Defying every obituary.

An opportunity comes out of pain
Like the graveyard poetry morbid to the ears,
Like the sound of a steel knife against a concrete wall,
Like the cawing of a half dead crow,
Like the vicious growls of an engine.

Sterile minds have no expressions,
They are like dust rags ready to be used—
There are many words for emptiness
But never such a meaningless grin.

An opportunity comes out of pain,
We all seem to believe it—
It comes like a horde of garbage men
and mental health workers,
It comes like the Internal Revenue Service,
It comes like the FBI and the special government committee,
It comes like a coroner and an undertaker
into your living room
To collect the putrid carcass of your talent.


 June 30, 1986
--Alexander Shaumyan