Today's poem is by Gerald Stern

At Last

Time was getting shorter every year
and we broke into sound the slightest lash of the
feather duster and we had bricks up our sleeves
you can't imagine and climbed three steps at a time—
though one of the versions was we never got there
or one of us got there first by banging the dashboard,
though I'd say it was getting there and not getting there
and banging had nothing to do with it
except it was Etta James if that means anything
and it was a kind of reunion after twenty
minutes of silence and we
sang together though they were different songs.

Copyright © 2014 Gerald Stern All rights reserved
from Boulevard
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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