Today's poem is by John Gallaher
Every now and then you've simply got to empty it all out,
purge the files, and make for the fences,
or else make the sort of commotion
that makes it seem the fences might be getting made for
and then make a sort of practical turn
back to the singable songs, a little exhilarated from the exertion
and the thought that music is better,
in the end, than that little shock when you look down
and see you're the one standing on the X,
which is always possible, even if you don't actually do things.
Well, we all do things. And later, we do things,
and sometimes with each other
or just reporting back to each other, though by then
the message is kind of garbled
and more about what reporting is than what it really was
getting to the report, or what we were nattering on so about,
and always with a pleasant closing.
We drove down to visit family on Sunday. It was
an off-stage whisper, and all the squirrels stood up in the yard
expecting something more than we were offering,
which says you'll never be alone again,
but only if you blur your eyes a bit
or change the notion.
Notions are so helpful. And sit there long after we're gone
into escapades or sallying forth.
Perhaps there isn't anything more
to get than that. Perhaps then, so anyway,
thank you for your time. Thank you.
Copyright © 2009 John Gallaher All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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