When the pickup truck, with its side mirror,
almost took out my arm, the driver’s grin
reflected back; it was just a horror
show that was never going to happen,
don’t protest, don’t bother with the police
for my benefit, he gave me a smile—
he too was startled, redness in his face—
when I thought I was going, a short while,
to get myself killed: it wasn’t anger
when he bared his teeth, as if to caution
calm down, all good, no one died, ni[ght, neighbor]—
no sense getting all pissed, the commotion
of the past is the past; I was so dim,
he never saw me—of course, I saw him.
Copyright © 2020 by Tommye Blount. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 19, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.
I.M. of David Ferry
The mouths of the bankers are closed. The secret
Police dream of hanging and hang. The gallows
Lay down upon the hill and refuse the money
They are paid. The drowsy crows stand on the eaves,
Ridges, and composed light in mudpuddles
With their dark, wet gold out, bartering
With the wind. Money is finally no good
Here. The offered lamb, only a rumor
Of its death, the black smoke of him now nothing
More than the night extended. Sleep. The dogs
Regard the night joyfully because the dead
Let them rest in the alleys beneath the loud gods
That have gone quiet in the sky. House and vulture
Veil whatever aches or bleeds. The good axe,
The bow, the wagon, the viper forget—
As everything at rest forgets what it has
Maimed or killed. The eyes of the poor, for once,
Are bruised like eyes of the rich—only with sleep.
Come, Gods of the Night, enter here, touch
One of your sleepless clients. His head
Is a rose being burned alive. His mother
Calls out from her urn, telling him to find her,
As death has, does, finds, walking, not
Knowing whether … Gods of the Night,
Take this man I love who’s being promoted
Beyond his commas and the little motions
Of light on the ceiling, which is his mother
Calling him, take him now to her. Without his rose.
Copyright © 2024 by Roger Reeves. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 30, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.