Poem-a-Day

Poem-a-day

The Thing Dead on the Road

I’m afraid I was wrong about the world ending.
The man sitting on the bench—is simply a man on fire.
His fingers; reaching for solitude, something
brief. The day becomes a sigh of pigeons digging
For stones. I stand near the station
Too sick to notice the bench—or the man—or fire
Or whether I’ve been spared from grief.
Even the roadkill, coveting concrete, stands
And walks. Where are those left behind?
I thought I knew something
About Armageddon. I apologize,
But when the world pauses, I will sing naked
In the heat and grow a forest of sycamores.
Who can survive an apocalypse
And live? I made the roadkill a god
But I’m not allowed to speak for god
So I wait.

read the rest

Brian Gyamfi

Previous Poems

Title	Author	Date
Miscegenation	Nick Laird	04/30/2019
in lieu of a poem, i’d like to say	Danez Smith	04/29/2019
An Adieu	Florence Earle Coates	04/28/2019
Fides, Spes	Willa Cather	04/27/2019
American Sonnet for My Past and Future Assassin [When James Baldwin & Audre Lorde each lend]	Terrance Hayes	04/26/2019
Nearly	Idra Novey	04/25/2019
The Wound Before the Tomb of Walt Whitman	Fernando Valverde	04/24/2019
Fall	Didi Jackson	04/23/2019
The Creative Drive	Catherine Barnett	04/22/2019
To Theodore	George Marion McClellan	04/21/2019

Title

Author

Date

Miscegenation

Nick Laird

04/30/2019