Poem #94

Blindsided in Midwestern Town of Persistence…

…And discovered that the field behind the hedge
Grew more distinctly strange as you kept standing
Focused and drawn in by what barred the way.

from “Field of Vision”, by Seamus Heaney

I reminisce with elders that worked for decades
at a living, regarding bends behind
off the clock in swart stout pints cascading
and cascading in our mouths beginning the lip.

Bend here crossed the ex-wife on a lover
The spoiled, punkish, high school, teenage texting slacker,
The different large vaults out of sleet and bitter breeze
The different miles of geraniums, the different trailer parks.

They were settled as shifting sediment itself.
Their frowns were equivocal as malfunctional silver disperser
spirals of a lunchroom vending machine and an exchanged for
edible hanging on the end.

There was sensuous sorrow and always
they carried continents of abstract mass.
Yes, there education would equate
to a simple sentence, alas there sad sentence soars
to heights of a cynic sky, a life-sentence in survival

a study quite delectable to Aristotle,
a study slight for a sliver,
a study which shakes the smallest subtraction
of a substantial, which strives to remember,
to remember to feel frightful, yet remain durable.

At one college campus of congestion,
the depth of philosophy, in question,
pulled out of the plant into the parking lot of exhaustion
over the asphalt, posited and shoved out, lost to a cry of caution

from a murder of crows convening in branches, in oppression
against the brightening Eastern, altostratus horizon.


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