The Man On His Camel

He cantered along,

The man on his dromedary,

Boxed in between cars,

He lurched precariously

On 101.

He couldn't take the car pool,

He was one.

Pierced with an arrow

Of burnished steel,

With ornamental feathers

At the base,

The aerodynamics of lethal flight.

No black,

His eyes were filmed

With a milky haze.

Warm blood had some way to travel,

Down the hump and then the shanks,

Past slender ankles onto asphalt,

The blood coagulated

By the time it reached the ground.

Blobs of jelly quiver

Between solidified droplets,

That trace

The dromedary's progress.

Cars changed lanes,

Indicators flashed,

The dromedary looked on

Unimpressed.

Across the valley was the church

He had never visited,

Maybe today was the day

For the dialectic of resurrection.

For greeting the writers of epics,

In suspended animation

At the doors of hell,

Before Achilles boomed his battle cry,

For Trojan warriors to die

On comrades' arrows,

And create a pile up

On 101.

Penelope will mourn

The heart of her beloved

Gushing blood on Bay Bridge,

Sailboats are white

Against the blue of sky,

The ocean blurs beyond Golden Gate,

Lobsters are dipped into marinade,

To celebrate the reawakening,

On Pier 39.