Today's poem is by Adrian Blevins
April Song for August
Since it's spring again, the sun is at it again:
stripping all over the place all over the park.
It has untapped the keg and unfurled the licorice
and the minstrels. It's unfurled the blush,
people. It's blown the safe and looted the loot.
As for the old troubles, they're just laundry
neither comic nor pathetic, neither news nor not.
That he says and she says. That the dogs mire
and the wells bite. That the handsome adolescents,
whom we've assembled, as well, and love,
as well, curse and smolder, just like other folks.
That we ourselves, for some odd reason,
clot and age so methodically. As for my daughter,
she's water, it's my job to keep her from spilling
over or out while she waddles along beside me
like a wild duck or a daisy or a dance,
since she really is a whole silliness of girl-babble
and blithe and founding and fleece. O child,
O delirious impossibilitybridge, dream, howl,
hitchplease come hear this meager salute.
Copyright © 2003 Adrian Blevins All rights reserved
from The Brass Girl Brouhaha
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved