Today's poem is by Jeffery Bahr
A dozen still that I might forget.
Morning inventory in a light, cold sweat.
The birds don't leave feathers, but take the bread
and bicker on the fence in a light vignette.
The phone rings twice, then reconsiders.
My day trepanned, my night forfeit.
Chevron tail, gray murder.
The dive of the kite unmet.
There was a girl and a recipe for rice pudding,
and I on the shoulders of a white sextet.
The train is always closer in the dark.
It is a rhythmic thief, and the night cornet.
Sarah died of dysentery, three miles
from the Platte. I am the cartwright's regret.
Copyright © 2006 Jeffery Bahr All rights reserved
from The Eleventh Muse
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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