some sort of hero
2 poems by Tyler Bigney
Laos, I haven’t forgotten you.
I walked the narrow streets of Vientiane
sometime between May and July of 2008.
The streets were quiet, except for the kids selling
pirated DVD’s. I would have bought a few
but their asking price was too high, and I
didn’t have a television.
“I hope a landmine kills you,”
they yelled after me.
There were clouds blocking
the warm sun, and beautiful girls
lost in the streets. They told me
before I came that I wasn’t allowed
to speak to them. But I spoke to them
anyway, late at night, in the dark space of
small, empty bars, where I whispered words
like beautiful and tragic
and run away with me.
Except none of that ever happened,
you see,
I’ve always been a bit of a coward,
so instead, I settled on eating pomegranates,
and timing the clouds
moving away from the sun,
anything, for a reason
to shield my eyes.
Five Islands
I was on the infamous trail
in Five Islands
where the coyotes ate the boy
and all anyone could find
was his white t-shirt, underwear
and one blue sock
from a pair
he got for Christmas
from his grandmother.
I had my hunting knife,
the one my mother
gave me for Christmas,
engraved with the words:
Do not be afraid to use it.
I was not afraid,
but the coyotes never came,
which is a sin,
because when I held that knife
in my hands,
and closed my eyes,
I could see myself
flying through the air
like Clark Gable
and tearing that coyote
to pieces
and finding the other
blue sock sitting like a stone
in his bloated belly,
while the newspapers
took pictures of me standing
next to him,
holding that lone blue sock
high above my head,
like some sort of hero.
