Calm People

by Pete Lee

their eyes are old ponds
in and out
of which turtles drift
the surfaces are flecked
with the backs of frogs
small islands in the sun

their voices
roll away like hills
to reach the Great Plains
of their silences

they pilot
they waitress
they say hi
they wear clothes
they lecture
they own property
they are sad
they are not very sad

their ears are shaped like harps

I want to be like them
I want to die
sort of