De-bark’d
THE EVERYDAY
66
Man with a raspy way
Of saying so-and-so
Stop’d “deigning to attend” the
Board’s annual meetings and something
About a “factory in Mississippi”—
He’s making kayaks “new polymers
And whatnot.” In Grand Rapids,
Michigan, there’s a street call’d
Wealthy and a few blocks
North of it the homeless
Spill out the doors of
The Guiding Light. Some, even
Though it’s only nine o’clock,
And even though it’s thirty-
Eight degrees Fahrenheit, put down
Bedraggled blankets a couple doorways
Down, “ain’t goan sleep in
No shelter.” At St. Cecelia’s
Music Society where Midori’s just
Play’d a George Enescu sonata
“Dans le caractère populaire roumain,”
The relief of the men
Emerging to fetch the SUVs
(The women scent’d and exclamatory
In the lobby) is palpable:
Enough of that itchy “cultural
Stuff.” One recalls the silver
Hip flask he’d carry’d at
State. In the park stands
One enormous maple tree, half-
Leaf’d and obscenely red. Under
It, an uncanny blue container
The color of sky. “For
Hours the mail-clad legions
Tramp’d doggedly forth under a
Black night, and when the
Sun hoist’d its one pennant
In uncloud’d splendour, the towers
And pinnacles of Jerusalem shined
Up fierce: the brute fan’tics
Fell to sod, become meek
And humble pilgrims pressing full
Length against the redeeming earth.”
—
“I just been to the baggage car where the engine is been toss’d.” How the ornery details of the everyday interrupt the writing of the everyday. Write that.
