S. Murakami turned around to look
At the red haired orphan sleeping,
In the back seat of
A 1979 Lincoln town car
His head looked like a bundle of fire
The leather seats tan and clean
Sunbeams migrated on his skin
Saltwater was the silent ghost
A feathered band
Wrapped around his head
Collected his sweat and alien dreams
With cloth and plume and quill
“He has to come from somewhere.
I found him on the beach
But he says he comes from nowhere.”
She furrowed her brow.
The old man driving chewed on a cigar.
He steered with one hand
The dashboard and his sunglasses
Agreed to be the color brown.
“Agatha Christie disappeared for ten days once.
When they found her, she was living
Under the name of the woman
Her husband was having an affair with.”
The ocean passed them by
Like a Polaroid of the ocean
Someone kept dropping
Past the windows
“You look like Agatha Christie.”
S. Murakami said
She opened a bag of candy
And poured it into her hand.
“You look like a carrot.” the old man said,
Around his cigar.
There was no one
On the road ahead or behind them.
“Anyone who could see
Or care about
Your spiky hair
Is long gone off this island.”
“Or too old
To appreciate style.”
S. Murakami put a piece of candy
On her tongue and stuck it out at him.
“You forget I was around
When punk rock started,
Before you were born.”
It was true, he had been around.
“But it didn’t get good
Until after I was born.”
S. Murakami turned again
To face the road.
Part of the “Orphan Ascends In Green” series, a collection of poems about three travelers on an island overrun by zombies.