Three Poems
Sitting Ducks
There will be tribulations. Perhaps
a tree falls, crushing your horse
whose hooves you then boil down to glue
your lips shut, keeping the spirit in,
fire ants out. Thus sealed, it won’t matter
what you roamed these dismal woods to find.
A canopy of gloomy thoughts blotches the cross-
hatched path and blurs curtains of drooping creepers—
but you persevere, follow your flashing machete
until the shadow of a lakeside cabin
doubles in the gloom.
As you enter her home,
the Oracle lowers her knitting.
When she speaks, the room anacondas,
settling walls until the purpose of your journey
dangles in the starless dark, a satellite of mint
tied by its roots to a rafter in her roof.
Too lame to stand, the lady of the temple nods,
points a needle at the rattling tin kettle.
Accidents
If humans were more like plants,
a bee might make a pitstop at your crotch
to sprout a family tree you never planned for.
‘We weathered the Cold War and missed the last
fun bus to summer’—that’s what some people say,
older folks mostly. I bet in her case, your mother
could picture that winter baby till her main squeeze
choked, pulling out at the last minute. Today your dad
steps to the window, taps a pair of metal tongs
and points across the lawn. Sporting your shades,
a knee-high terra cotta squirrel smiles back discreetly,
frozen in the bold volcanic shadow of the barbecue
like the ghost of true baroque furniture at Versailles.
College Dropouts
Gabe Foreman's poem, "College Dropouts," is presented as a special PDF supplement.
