It's just poetry, it won't bite


07.12.18 Posted in today's words by

Gary Duehr’s most recent poem to appear here was “Postscript” (May 2018).

By Gary Duehr

Should I stay or should I go,
That’s my question. What long-ago imbroglio
Upset the balance of who I am?
Mom, Dad? Anyone . . . anyone? It’s all the same
In the end. I saw, I came,
I went back home. (All in iamb.)
On the plane, the blinking light on the tip of the wing
Tracks the far blue arc. It’s something
I love, floating up here.
As if the passenger cabin is a kind of sphere
That’s weightless, warm, suspended
In vastness. Not to get all Freudian, but isn’t it
Nice to be almost alone?
Like drifting down the street, iPhone
In hand, texting a pix of tiny white leftover lights on trees
To the one I love. Or when a moment freezes
Standing at a crosswalk, eyes closed, hearing the traffic
Whir by. It’s sick.
Time slows, I feel like I can touch
The tops of clouds. Later, in the hotel, scanning—
What else—CNN
For signs of life, I wonder how much
Polarization one country can take.
I feel my head ache
On the pillow. I miss everyone.
I miss everything I’ve ever known. Bar none.
Is it possible to connect the dots
From TV and what’s
Unrolling, tragically, to on-the-ground life—
Never mind the hypothetical what if:
What if everything were magically different?
Yet this is where the story went
And here I am. The clock flips its red digits
To 1 a.m and it’s
Up to me. Spray paint a red A
For Anarchy on the wall of the student union? Find a way
To shout down hate?
Is it time to dress in black and storm the White House gate?
The questions all hang out there in space
Unanswered. (Pray for grace.)

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