August 2013

Poet before MFAs

You know me, the one who got away,
silent and cool under my rock, or lounging
the day over a cup of Joe, talking to friends
who come and go. I was here before you
came to life on this small planet. I make my
way floating from place to place, from gorgeous
shabby hotels to back street dim lit motels,
checking the cushions of lobby sofas in the
plusher downtown places, cleaning out all
the lost coins that yearn for pockets, riding
off on unlocked bicycles. You know me, you
don’t know me, I was here before the flood
and hid away with the sheep in Noah’s boat.
And where in these times do I put my head
down for sleep? Back of an unlocked car,
a forgotten room where a party rages with
the lack of meaning humans need, the room
where people pile their heavy coats when
the wind spins cold, I’m buried beneath ,
asleep but always leave in two, big as a god,
one coat certain to pawn. The pigeons
will never give away my secrets. You read
my lines in college classes and curse my
name with the tests you have to take, before
you win that sheepskin degree, buy your house
in some suburban town, commute to work
and change diapers. One night, while walking
the dog under the moon, my name, and few
lines I wrote, may come to mind. You know
you’re dying. I hope to make a rueful smile
and lift you out of your common sorrows.

—Chuck Taylor

3 thoughts on “August 2013

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