Feti’s Border Crossing
Copyright © 2022 by Alan Michael Parker. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 16, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.
I love two dogs, even when they’re killing a baby possum near the columbines, shaking the varmint until the death squeal chokes to a gargle, and both dogs stand before the bloody marsupial nosing it to move, because that’s Nature, right? (And whom did I just ask whether that was right?) (And what’s a moral quandary for a possum?) I love the dog who leans, matter-of-fact in her need, and the big smile of the small Pit Bull. But when I am a hummingbird, finally, I will beat my wings eighty times per second, thousands of seconds and eighty thousands and thousands of my splendife
What was he saying and to whom? With a silver thermos he left the building; He paused in the courtyard and turned. What was he saying and to whom? The building at dawn not yet a building Paused the way all buildings do. What was he saying and to whom? Time doesn't stop; time doesn't wait; Time has never moved. What was he saying and to whom? If the dog had been sleeping She would not have awakened, So small was the moment to lose. What was he saying and to whom? What was he saying and to whom? The courtyard at dawn was the same As the sky, the sky swept clean by the moon. What was h
When revelation comes, the God of Draperies Cannot decide the difference Between in and out. A patio is out though in a yard, he thinks, Nursing his ignorance And a mostly gone Tom Collins, The sunshine and the cicadas and the loveliness Competing for his rage. But a car is out? So what about a swizzle stick? Out of the box but in the drink, Then out of the drink and in the mouth. A little bit in and out, he thinks, the vinyl slats Of the ancient chaise lounge Stuck to him Like bacon to a slice of Wonder Bread. And the soul is in?