The Addled Iguana Poem by Jeffrey Quattlebaum

I have never seen a pig in a graveyard mist
I have never shared a cigarette with the Pope
I have never drawn a
breath from
the corpse of Mark Twain
of course I'd tell you
if I had.
I have never bathed in a murderous wash
I have never touched the hand of a saint
I have never walked
along a unlettered highway

Have you?

I have never dined on marrow
with anyone that knew any different
never have I spoken into a broken mirror
or carried a body for more than
a hundred yards

I have however had a conversation
with a vulture and a hyena
and the vulture talked of death and
smelled like it too
the hyena didn't laugh as much as
one would think.

And I knew that,
like the vulture,
he lived through the death of others.

I have never lived by the death of another
but I have wished for it
under my breath
like a vulture.

I have never played cowboy's and indians
with Jesus Christ or Napoleon
I have never fought a war
but waking up each day
sometimes feels like I have
I have never waded through waist-deep
rivers of dead birds
or climbed through the center of a burning bush
I would, of course, tell you all about it
if in fact
I had ever done such things