CAT Scan

of my skull in the surgeon’s office

like a Da Vinci post-mortem

a putty of shades 

smeared by movement

in the brrr-ing machine

Newly pendulum-like

about multiple axes 

as if a friend had sent 

a funny birthday card 

with a tilt-a-whirl

holographic skull 

of a chimpanzee 

front teeth protruding

lips blown out like someone 

in a fool’s rage over 

missed chances—

now I am bent over 

under the weight of this 

bloody hind quarter

in a slurry of guilt 

rain and Glenlivet 

The elk had run injured

had needed two shots 

the truck still a half mile 

and a creek crossing away 

My feet like dead cod 

I am losing my grip this

blood-slick carcass and all

the punk stars with long 

sleeves of lime curd

dragging their chains over 

and up the long hill

This poem is from the book CRYING OF SMALL MOTORS (Finishing Line Press) and is available now at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/crying-of-small-motors-by-craig-brandis/