Last night I read this poem at Mayor Sam Liccardo’s Inauguration and in so doing shared the stage with Aztec dancers, Spanish guitarists, Christian ministers, Buddhist monks and wonderful host Tamara Alvarado. Thanks to Mayor Liccardo and to all who were present. Here’s the poem! And stay tuned later this month for more laureate news and upcoming events!
JANUARY AND THE RUBE GOLDBERG MACHINE
I hear shouts issued from mothers, their chords tired and tuned, bidding
daughters and sons: Stop at the crossing and wait for the light
Cutting through St. James park
the voices of women in threadbare Starter parkas
recline on liberated Safeway Market carts
Greeting me with Pall Mall smiles
their cupped hands rise as if presenting
some delicate artifact for my inspection
Where north meets south First, I hear people whisper into palm-sized boxes
of pure obsidian, and the boxes whisper back. I hear it’s the future
I hear grunting men at the pull-up bars
tattooed pistons framed in Greek columns
the curve of every deltoid or trapezius
milled in the same jungle
It’s fight night, and they ask, “Yo, who you got?”
In San Jose, the answer to any sports question
is a simple multiple choice affair
Sharks, Earthquakes, Giants, Niners, or Cain Velasquez
I hear Ukuleles, jackhammers, and warnings from hard hats and blinding vests
directing traffic in a hand language everyone assumes I understand
The light rail squeals
clinging to a semblance of attitude control
And condos puff their chests and yawn
And hip hop sings from the chrome of youth
careless of the cruising ordinance
And a father’s ringtone drops like hail
He ignores it
kneels low
parts a girl’s hair from her eyes
He points to a Coiled Serpent
to a Rube Goldberg machine
to a Figure Holding the Sun
and speaks to her in a language I will never understand
but I know what he’s getting at
These voices swell with a power only a snake oil salesman would try to name
and with them my own trembling reed tells you what you already know
The town hall can be a palace
The east side sidewalk, the Elysian Fields
The theater, a cathedral
Any time you want
Santa Clara County Poet Laureate Blog 