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Nothing to Do with Us, or Poem against the Crumbling of the Republic

Joe Wilkins

Old friend,
are we there yet? 

You sat with me once,
outside a dirty burger joint,
a hard light at the windows.

It was just about
the ass crack of the afternoon,

mountains in the distance,

& I’d played a trick on you,
or you’d played a trick on me,

& the highway
was a home to comings & goings,
nothing to do with us.

We had hours yet to drive.

Old friend,
how long should we sit here,
breathing dust & gasoline,

watching clouds gut themselves
on the pines?

Joe Wilkins received his MFA in creative writing from the University of Idaho. He is the author of the poetry collections When We Were Birds (University of Arkansas Press, 2016), Notes from the Journey Westward (White Pine Press, 2012), and Killing the Murnion Dogs (Black Lawrence Press, 2011). He is the director of creative writing at Linfield College and lives in Oregon.

About Joe Wilkins

Themes

Existential

Friendship

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More by this poet

My Son Asks for the Story About When We Were Birds

When we were birds,
we veered & wheeled, we flapped & looped—

it's true, we flew. When we were birds,
we dined on tiny silver fish
& the watery hearts
of flowers. When we were birds

we sistered the dragonfly,
brothered the night-wise bat,

& sometimes when we were birds

we rose as high as we could go—
light cold & strange—

& when we opened our beaked mouths
sundown poured like wine
down our throats.

When we were birds
we worshipped trees, rivers, mountains,

Joe Wilkins

2018

Then I Packed You Up the Ridge Like a Brother on My Back

In the blue dark I followed the ridge
toward the pines.

In a bowl of sage and dry grass
soft as the throat-hairs

of something small,
I lay down.

The sun was a long time coming,
the earth bloodless at my belly.

I waited and watched the river.
I was very still. You know how it is—

the stars closing their bright mouths,
the dew a gift on your lips.

You did not see me,
or my rifle,

blue as the dark. I saw you
step from the willows,

Joe Wilkins

2018

Just Anybody, or Poem against the Crumbling of the Republic

Old friend,

stuck in that small town,

we tried every way we could

to kill ourselves.

That night down on the river,

that night I lost you?

That was a stupid night.

I think about it all the time.

We’d already sunk the front wheels

of your three-on-the-tree Impala

in the cow shit & mud.

Around the fire

I didn’t know half the faces.

You gnashed a palmful of pills.

You took off y

Joe Wilkins

2018

Poems

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Nothing to Do with Us, or Poem against the Crumbling of the Republic

More by this poet

My Son Asks for the Story About When We Were Birds

Then I Packed You Up the Ridge Like a Brother on My Back

Just Anybody, or Poem against the Crumbling of the Republic

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