It's just poetry, it won't bite


11.27.13 Posted in today's words by

Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His theater and restaurant reviews have been published in various newspapers, with poetry and interviews appearing in numerous national journals, among them Portland Review, Main Street Rag, Kestrel, Scarlet Literary Magazine, Cream City Review, Nimrod, Penny Ante Feud, New Plains Review, Poetry Quarterly, The Muse–An International Journal of Poetry, and Clockhouse Review. He has published a travel guide, Best Choices in Northern California and Time Lines, a book of poems. He lives in Marina CA.

By Thomas Piekarski

He raided his steady identity
for tools of the trade he couldn’t handle,
all left thumbs when operating machines.
This defect built into his genes.

So as not to miss out on an opportunity
he built a log cabin with a stone fireplace,
and laid out dried reeds for a bed.
He left himself for dead, read
volumes of Shakespeare, Moliere, Auden,
his every motion a rabbit pulled out of a hat,
every action counter to its reverse motion.
From ground up rock and wild squash
he mashed enough to feed his face.


Comments are closed.

Latest Podcast Episode
vox poetica archives