[RealPoetik] Tod Marshall

[RealPoetik Magazine]

BUCCINATOR


Bullock, buculus.  Castrated young bull.

Coiled horn.  The long light shakes across the lakes:    we buy in bulk.
Give me that oral tradition, that ancient wordy call:
gums, tongues, and mouths mouthing, eat, sucky, talk.
Embouchure—outmoded by the carefree trumpet:
toodle-oo to Gideon, Joshua, and Saul.  Infinite
surface, finite volume: it might
be well to mention here that a bugle is sounded,
not blown.  O coppery Butte, O superfunded
blunder, zinc-y need.  A pit is the earth stripped.
Regimented troops need their toots: Assembly,
Dismiss, Reveille, and Tattoo; Knock Off Bright
Work, Man Overboard, Bayonet, Abandon Ship.
Sayeth the Boogie Woogie, The Boy, sayeth me.








*Tod Marshall* lives in Spokane, Washington. His third book of poems,
BUGLE, is forthcoming from Canarium Books.
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