Connor Pickett has this to say about himself: “Connor Pickett is a young suburbanite and a liar with a particular talent for apologies. He is a newcomer to the literary scene with a summer-grown collection of rejection letters ripening for a beautiful harvest.” Visit his blog to read more of his work. Rejection letters happen, as do autumn harvests after long, hot summers.
It gets you nowhere
By Connor Pickett
I know I am roadside novelty and spectacle
but bless my concrete summer
welcome July
welcome juicy blisters
reborn as
cultivated into
some-day-race-day veteran callous
when my feet will taste new roads.
I know I am novelty, spectacle, novelty
hear-the rub-ber on-the-con-crete
no-vel-ty spec-ta-cle no-vel-ty
sidewalk inches crawl
where trailed miles once rushed
I know, traffic
race-day-some-day
gasp!
but bless and curse my infinite concrete summer
where better maturity chokes in immolation’s hold
its hand brought me little water and less food
run
run the miles and summer might end
I hate them both
So many good lines in this poem – but “when my feet will taste new roads” – well, I meant to write that!
I thought this was a terrible poem. It sounded like an eight year old wrote it. So so sad.