Midtown Iguana

by D.A. Lockhart

Little registers before
the east-bound departure
of a Tempo,
            stuffed Iguana
            in rear window,            looking
    at the world hungry.

     The driver, too-tightly collared
shirt, three-day bender scruff
            and cigarette pointed
            between two
hands on the wheel.

     Hardly seen hair,
          him not seeing
beyond the direction of the car.

And that Iguana,
      one time pet,
      sure fire thrift-store find,
stares boldly
      into midday sun,
      posture frozen in stride.

Proclaims in bow-
      legged sternness
      creation needs
      to be told
              one can be

— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 3