Dinosaurs

I started liking Dinosaurs when I was a kid.
I read books, watched The Land Before Time,
and played with little plastic dinos.
I wanted to grow up to be a paleontologist.
Instead, I became a writer.

Some people don’t like the revelation that dinosaurs had feathers.
They want the dinosaurs from their youth:
towering, reptilian predators,
monsters
that roamed the Earth without equal.
Godzilla,
basically.

But isn’t learning about the prehistoric past
part of the fund of dinosaurs?
It was for me, anyway.
Other kids pretended to be T-Rex,
stomping, roaring,
chasing other kids around the playground,
while I sat in the sandbox
burying all my plastic dinos
and then digging them up again,
brushing them off with an old paintbrush,
the way a paleontologist would.

Nostalgia and science:
they aren’t enemies.
Or, at least, they shouldn’t be.

And besides, I can’t be the only one,
who saw a picture of a feathered velociraptor
and immediately wanted to pet it.

A quick little poem for World Poetry Day, about dinosaurs, which are awesome. Especially with feathers.

After School Pub Crawl

Four suits walked out the tavern door
Four smiles stuttered and sang to each other
Fine polished shoes scuffed themselves against the sidewalk
Laughter was their king, and they bowed to her
Now there is a man hyperventilating in the kitchen
and someone else is trying to shush him.
There are sobs pounding on the back of their teeth.
Their eyes dissolve into the salt water.
I myself can no longer see where they are:
My feet are stuck on a carousel in the foyer.
I cannot but shuffle forward and cry.
All I know how to do is walk in circles and scribble lines.

Here’s a late post in celebration of World Poetry Day, which was yesterday. This was originally published in the Fall 2013 issue of the Case Reserve Review and later republished on my now-defunct tumblr. Photo is from my semester abroad in Cardiff.