Today's poem is by Ander Monson


If the work of rock is shift & chip & fault,
then the work of fingertip along neck
is good and well-deserved; then asphalt can
astonish us by going soft in back
of Festival Foods, where the bears' Friday
night dumpster-dive for trash & strew & mess
is entertainment for us this far north.
Asphalt's slumming, slurring under sun is
no more solid than a Shamrock Shake thrown
out, reclining in the trash; if what we
call the ground is hurtle, globe, then we are
breakneck, roller coaster gone, or famished
from lack of love, finishing & finished.

Copyright © 2005 Ander Monson All rights reserved
from Vacationland
Tupelo Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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