Consuelo I. Marshall

Craftsmanship

You made me the perfect
miniature catapult,
driven by a large rubber band.
It satisfied my urges to 
throw things.

You must have gone to the little
library in Red Bluff to 
look them up in the encyclopedias.

Each piece of wood was hand-carved
and fitted together with a balance
almost deadly.

I took it concealed in my clothes
to the university cafeteria over looking the Pacific
loading it up with frozen succotash.

I let it fly over heads of freshman and seniors
to land on someone. 
A voice barked to stop 
and I hid it deep under my skirt.

And if that wasn't enough, 
I rappelled down the side of the new dorm,
held by a single strand of sisal rope
anchored to you on the roof
while I bounced against room windows
waving with one hand. 

Remember that day at the zoo
in the abandoned primate cage?
Swinging from the ropes until we 
stopped cold to calls of chimps
watching us.

I think my nephews found the catapult,
collapsing it with over use.
I should have kept it 
encased in thick plexiglass
just like in the museums.