Today's poem is by Benjamin Goldberg
Too often sledgehammers are the answer
rotting crossbeam, plank, or stud, this ribcage,
these boarded storefronts. Avenues all sound
like rooftop cisterns, their absent water.
Lord, I'm too often dawn's color of rain
left too long on the frames of pickup trucks
whose wheels are cinderblocks. Answer my bones
just as you would my driveway, with bindweed.
By brake light, I break glass on the wrong side
of your sound walls. I read the pyro's creed
from a matchbook, and make my church once more
my gas can. I'll ask againhow many
streetlights has my faith avenged? Flicker once,
if you can't hear me. Flick off if you can.
Copyright © 2015 Benjamin Goldberg All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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