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Jack Will Out

by Ajay M. Narayanan

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I can see, can't you,

the porcelain glint

of the splint of the trellis

holding clay leaves up to light

peeping, waiting its turn?
Denouement biding the while

in occipital caves

to debauch in the sun?

Learning idioms, aged six,

I stood on the bench, pilloried

for daring to snicker

at one of those preppy kids,

of model behaviour,

who jumped out of his skin

for some silly reason

in my English reader.

I am reconciled now

that one day Jack will out

in just that manner

and, brazen

dance naked by the river.

The facade pulverized

to sate the infinitesimal pangs

of swarms of mustard bellies

and teeming micro tummies,

and dispersed

as lazy snowdrift veils,

alto-cumulus spirit sails,

and wind-harried ash trails,

to wander,

He will out.

To feel spiders amble

slinging silky titillations

up his flayed spinal stairs,

for the mimosa to shy

in the shelter of his eye,

for another goat footed imp-

to fashion of his limbs

new flutes for a new pursuit,

grinning Jack, happy Jack
will out.

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