Seagulls beside ferry boat
Seagulls beside ferry boat. They're people-watching.
From Your Time Has Come by Joshua Beckman, published by Verse Press. Copyright © 2004 by Joshua Beckman. Reprinted by permission of Verse Press. All rights reserved.
I’m not with my blue toes or my doggies
nor am I under any arched roof rotting blossoms
in my drain, sunlight pouncing upon me,
nor am I fixed like a tree, nor am I unfixed
like a wind. I ate an apple, that’s fine
and after Anthony left I got a whiskey.
I stared a bit like a shadow at a book,
a fold in my shirt showed a monk’s bowing head
in a column of dusty light, but I just basically
used it to cover up my arm which was prickling
now because of some awful thing within me.
Big nasty sun making me feel old and then
In Colorado, In Oregon, upon each beloved fork, a birthday is celebrated. I miss each and every one of my friends. I believe in getting something for nothing. Push the chair, and what I can tell you with almost complete certainty is that the chair won't mind. And beyond hope, I expect it is like this everywhere. Music soothing people. Change rolling under tables. The immaculate cutoff so that we may continue. A particular pair of trees waking up against the window. This partnership of mind, and always now in want of forgiveness.
Unslide the door,
uncap the lazy little coffee cup.
The pasty people must be part of the dinner.
And a city turns its incapacity in,
foolish city. She was naked
and her halo all crushed against
the pillow while she slept, but I
didn’t care. Wake and totter.
Place a hand over your mouth,
a hand over another.
A killing pain, a bag all organized,
an inch of skin along your leg.
It’s like they kept making babies
and stopped making baby whistles.
Doable, yes, but here they
teach us something different.