The Ticks - George Eklund
In the morning heat
we yank the ticks off Old Skip
at times from each other’s necks and scalps.
Me and my brothers
showed them off to each other.
Horrible blood gems
held up in the morning glint.
Their little demon heads
still wedged in a piece of skin we’d lost.
The fat ones we hated most.
That was our blood, Old Skip’s blood.
Sucked out of us. Robbed. Sealed away.
Tom liked best to light them with a match.
John and Jimmie set them adrift
down Amazon puddles.
Old Skip didn’t give a damn
whether they screamed or not.
But me and my hammer...
Hot damn! How we yelled laughter
when our blood was set free and you could see
our blood was still blood
and not turned to some animal pus.
A purple stain darkened the stoop
and stayed all summer.
Thought I’d try and prompt some collaborative poetry discussion here. What do you think of this piece? It’s one of my favorites for its visceral storytelling and the very clear images it conjures.
Firstly, thanks for taking a pro-active approach in bringing us together! We very much appreciate it! :)
I love this poem for it's very casual manner! I think that goes alongside what you said, because of its storytelling and imagery! It's so casual and yet well formed! You can read it on so many different levels! Great poem, I'd never read before. How did you first come across it?
I love this! I've read so much poetry that felt like a simple slice of a personal journal entry that I began wondering if collaborative poetry was coming to a rushed halt. This poem really opened my eyes to the idea of creating them myself. Thank you for sharing this Matthew!