Fusiform

weed

A muscle spindle is fusiform
In shape, so is a leaf, spelling out
That nature is filled with
Fusiform geometries. I learn that medicine
Too has fusiform, blood clots
And aneurisms, which can give
You death in an instant.
Then there are pasta, also spindle
Shaped, as fusilli, the Latin word
For fusiform. Then I look at my wife’s lips
They too taper at the lip-end
And the pout being the rounded part.
I look at all the wonderful things
Fusiform and then, I happen
notice my tummy, a little Fusiform
Just a little like Humpty Dumpty
And oh boy, what I would do to
Lose my belly.

I look at the handles of the wooden rolling pin
That my wife uses to flatten out
The dough. I sprawl to the ground
To do an abs workout. I do 20 pushups
And I’m done, panting overcoming
My patience. Life is a medley of fusiform moments.
Some we like, some we don’t.
The English alphabet too has a letter
That looks fusiform, the “O”,
Which is like climbing a mountain
With an extra oxygen tank. Oxygen
Too is O, the element that pumps
The lungs to make chemical energy
That makes my wife pout scream
Many things that I’m not – Oh Boy, God etc,
Little windy expressions. O is the reason
Some of us live, to let the ocean climb
Out through little cracks in our skin.

Fusiform, is the summer years, that tapers off
To middle age, when you start to get
A little cynical, like I am at 40.
Fusiform too, is the many leaflets of a marijuana plant
As are the hash-muffins, and fusiform
Is every one of my neurons that tell
Me to keep off weed. At 40, how many
Times you become stoned is the riddle at hand,
Unlike the 20s when you counted
The number of times you got laid.
One day I will finally smoke a joint as I say to myself
I cannot be a schizophrenic, at this age.
Still, even if I go cuckoo, I can always
Point at my crew-cut scalp, and
Proudly show to the world
My beautiful mind.

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