Pin Your Ears Back

a poem by Roger B Rueda

Pat yourself: how it speaks to you in lines
that are not lines, the way
the sound  of rushing rainwater
finds the ear of the shoreline,
or a cast of narra leaves taps
against the silence
of the coppices. In a jiffy, your rump
is conversing quietly
about the curvatures  and crests
of a Kenneth Cobonpue.
Your shoulders tauten and release,
as they whirr about the tiff
you had after lunch.
And the back
of your foot is becoming friends
with those bits of grits  that tripped
inside your Rusty Lopez.
Pick up the singings
in turn, or pull their tongues
together like the rant
of a pathway. This time,
I’ll be silent, so you can pin your ears back.