A new poem by M.A. Schaffner

Coco de Mer

Floating out to sea, one can’t say the Earth
clings much to substance. Skinks and geckos ride
on rafts improvised from discarded fronds.
Traffic patterns change daily. Nesting sites

provide a constant source of nourishment
for scavengers, but I feel like calling
in sick today. Those creatures may exist
nowhere else in that combination

but some days even science makes me want
to nap at my tortoise of a desk.
My soul feels heavy because I’m alive.
The male organ is so enormous it

supports its own ecosystem. The seeds
beneath the husks suggest the pudenda
of Neolithic Venuses. But they
do not float until they’ve started to rot.