Jazz from Cripple City

I saw tonight four men in wheelchairs eating
Flowers, laughing through the dusk
In a public garden.
Forsythia leaned to the water.
Oh to bear up under such rollicking measures. . . .
Oh to live in Buffalo, New York, and eat civic plantings. . . .

Yes, it's true, I can't see a thing.
A friend had to tell me about the men who ate from the rhododendrons.
Her description was full of detail, let us say, as
The courts are full of law,
As Doc Williams might have said.

But, no one can describe the murmurous laughter that does not
Alter the case. & the twilight full of sounds. . . .

Copyright © 2007 Stephen Kuusisto All rights reserved
from Beloit Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission