salt tree

tony-boy sits
under a salt tree
growing a crust.

he molts three times a day.

a bowl full of mousebones sits in his lap.
he mumbles a skull song
while sifting his fingers
through the white skittles.

he would prefer to be alive
and living his vision of accountancy
and fuel-efficient cars.
he would like a marriage and a stable
full of tony-boys to love and smash full
of his dreams.

instead he’s stuck with a salt treehouse
and a magic bean. one at a time he stretches out the worms
he’s been asked to keep safe until they break. he strokes
his way toward an absinthe horizon.
he pretends he is a doctor. he demands a lawyer
who can defend the rights of chiggers.
he thinks an Indian chief would starve if
subjected to an entire forest of salt trees
dropping salt leaves on the ground
even though the deer who flock to feast upon and suck them
are too swollen to escape,

much like tony-boy,
who sits sobbing under a salt tree
and grows another crust
once the scabs from the last one
have fallen.