The comics were best kept simple –
The Little King, Boofhead, Brenda Starr.
The King never spoke
& others spoke ‘but briefly’
in his presence – announcing
something – this or that –
& the King would leap,
scowl or shrug,
exclamation mark
above his head.
I understood him
from an early age.
The cartoonist’s
ineptitude
was essential: Boofhead’s
Egyptian style
of ambulation,
his Egyptian surprise.
‘The true archaic simplicity’
as someone might have said.
Arms akimbo, one leg lifted,
mouth open, his eyes – did I
ever see him sleep? – pools
of black.
The amateurish, confident
styling of Brenda Starr.
Where is that world now?
I wanna go there & roll
cigarettes, roll my own
smokes, as Dan Hicks
had it – later, in a more
sophisticated age –
an age that
looks back –
at the King affronted,
Boofhead flummoxed, or
Boofhead stymied,
Starr crying or
having a thought …
looks back, looks back,
astonished at that innocence.