Today's poem is by Mark Yakich
Way, On This Plane All Face The Same
And yet we shouldn't just sit
There and beat up a silver bag of peanuts
Because we don't want
To use our teeth on it.
If we're willing to die some,
Can restart our lives. But
To sob hard out of earshot
Of a beloved what's the point?
Life's a transmogrifying thought
Inside the soft and long
Body of death. Who knows
What I or anyone else
Means? Let's stop cutting ourselves
On metaphor alone.
If one could only fuck the person
In one's diary ... well, let's ask the air waiter
(That otiose, beautiful stranger).
See if he thinks moaning helps the experience
Of pain. If he quotes
The lion in The Wizard ef Oz,
Tell him about your layover with gastric lavage.
If he quotes The Bible, remind him
That on the last day of Creation
The ancient translators were inept
God didn't rest, He wept.
Copyright © 2017 Mark Yakich All rights reserved
from The Dangerous Book of Poetry for Planes
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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