Poem: Henry Miller's Marshmallow Stick

Henry Miller’s Marshmallow Stick

In the full-moon stir of Big South

bright enough for front-porch kisses

we dip our bread in primordial soup and

chew off the crust, spitting out mountains

The old man’s up there somewhere

screaming out the Ventanas

as Michelangelo beats at his bald-pated hills

The white marble comes back as sea foam

or marshmallows

The guy with the flashlight forehead says

come down, old man

grab a stick, join the spree

burn them a bubbling black if you like

In the morning the old man is back to his mountains

while sun and moon play tennis on the grass-line spread

God love us if we don’t take it home and

play it on our tee-vees

when the pace gets too pacey

First published in Eclectic Literary Forum

(Tonawanda, New York)

From the collection Great Showtunes of the American Stage  

Photo by MJV