Saturday, April 14, 2018

found poem 2017 #3 | assembled from the pages of the new yorker

While creating the universe,
did God have in mind that,
at a certain point,
a stuffed goat with a car tire around its middle
would materialize to round out the scheme?
It came to pass,
in New York -
where index cards escape their drawers and soar like white moths into the musty air,
and dried, vacuum-packed meats show promise as landing gear.

lost entities: out-of-print books,
elementary-school classmates,
decades-old damning quotes by politicians,
headlines with the words "sad last days" and "six months to live."

I think of the itch in world history and my mind goes blank.

by Ron Reed