Schlappi - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
I was so sorry, really.
On closing our heavy door
a slight resistance was detected
as if the hinges needed grease.
But not a sound disturbed the silence
though much regret took hold of me
when next I ventured through the entrance
and found a sad, disturbing pair
of bulging eyes, those of a lizard
regard me with curiosity.
I had to peel him off the metal
a delicate and urgent task
some wet saliva liquified
a blotch of sticky lizard blood.
I took him in, the kitchen table
was commandeered to help the creature
he seemed so flat, like greenish paper
and he kept searching in my eyes
for signs of hope, he would not budge.
So, I, his six-foot-three attacker
did nod my head repeatedly
slipped into monologue with ease
of reassurance and of peace.
One eye had been displaced by force
a giant haematoma lurked
and threatened him with early death
there also was internal bleeding.
So time was running, as it does
whenever one requires guidance
it pushes and confuses us
and takes our skills to useless depths.
The doorbell rang, the lizard screamed
it was my buddy with his bag,
he'd finished his 'phorectomy
and sat his tired body down.
Then, frantically, we got to work
it took an hour at the most
but we sat beaming with our friend
as he reclined in woven comfort
of Grandma's basket, meant for bread.
Jim stayed for dinner and beyond
we took our medicine for healing
and gave him water from Perrier.
At last the dropp of Jack was gone
we knew the crisis had defused
and Schlappi did recover well
although one eye was not quite straight.
He's been our friend since eighty-six
has learned to make a face or two
at cockatoo and Jack the dog
and stays away from any doors
he did not like his flat appearance.
Comments about Schlappi by Herbert Nehrlich
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl