Blue Civet (or Blue Damselfly)

 

The rough blue lake

Is a van Gogh of the sky

 

When out of the blue

That surfeit of blue

Soars a little blue friend

 

An old summer friend

On a sortie of nostalgia:

 

The blue civet.

 

And I almost say hello!

To this fond and faithful damsel

 

When its level glide 

On barely visible wings

 

Brings it to my pole tip

Where it perches for a breather

Just as in my boyhood.

 

That pin pulled out of the sky

In its handsome electric blue!

 

With its dated futuristic look

Of starships in old sci-fi films.

 

I remember one alighting

On my sunburned shoulder

 

With no desire for my sweat or blood

 

Maybe for only a tear of emotion—

​

Until I considered the horrid little face.

 

I remember their blue squadrons

 Over the mantled midday swamp

 

Like ineffectual U.N. peacekeepers

Amid the dogfighting dragonflies.

 

I remember—

 

And then it’s off

Cruising over the water

 

Like a two-inch blip

On the color screen of the world.

 

The father of the man.

 

The child of the father.

 

And between them—what?

 

Maybe only a single cast.

 

Maybe only a dream.

 

Maybe only the hyphen of a blue civet.