TED JONATHAN

UNDER THE SHADOW OF WINGS

 
A BLOW!

Back of my head—

No snowball or elbow,

those, I've known. 

Jolting, not painful—

Nose of a tough edged paper plane,

force and splatter of a flung egg.

The lone soul in sight,

a drunk topped in a white nautical cap,

lies sprawled on a stoop—a blackout.

No blood back my head, dry.

No object found.

In rows and rows of windows of high-rise—

No souls in sight. Only,

A swastika constellation of eternal televisions.

Was the ghostly blow a heads up from God above?

Or Judas's Satan-infested spirit, on a day pass from

the deepest ditch of Dante's inferno?

ANOTHER BLOW!

Back of my head—

A BLUE JAY?!

Like a balloon deflating spasmodically across space—

I fly into the lobby of the hi-rise--disgraced.

And pray—Please, no witnesses.

Behind thick glass door, safely, I scan for attacker—

And rejoice--as the foot-long Blue Jay nails a flailing mailman twice!

Between a lone curbside tree and discarded old stove,

A small blue smudge stumbles—

Grounded--a baby Blue Jay! And then—

A screaming blue streak atop a fleeing cat's head!

Ted Jonathan is a poet and short story writer. Born and raised in the Bronx, he lives in Manhattan. His work has appeared in New York Quarterly, Chiron Review, Slant, Skidrow Penthouse, Iconoclast, and a number of other literary journals. His chapbook Spiked Libido was published by Neukeia Press. A full length collection 10,000 Keys to Nowhere is forthcoming. His books are available a www.nyquarterly.com--link to NYQ store. He can be contacted at theodorejon@yahoo.com