A Grown Capable

By Aydin Eliason

Ain’t I a mighty, mighty man, ain’t I? 21stishness borne around town like a sea liner taking trafficked correspondences in the blue. A ship of bagel stores. The pained austerity of the grapefruit, another charity case swallowing hubcaps. Aesthetic and resounding, branches of an unknown tree skirt the margherita glass. “Tequila!” I like it lichen left off turned up the storage unit. Uppercut at upper crust. At 10 years old, fearful of 11 and what lay ahead. An onion car. Shapeshifting the puzzle and guzzling the liquor couching the sardines. Hurricanes of tails of bird winds. A saw chops stuff up: shruff shruff shruff. Is a squawk a chuckle or a grunt in untypified language? Sea of urchins. Lagoon growth spurt in the streets. An air of caring. A book of spades. Solitude in its vast teetering emptiness. Reading the words gives the carousel truest motion. Pre this, post that. The lightning’s on the wall. Respect the non-adults. Be a grown capable of growing backwards. Do not discard the past. Toys are the real spells.