Friday, August 27, 2004
Waving a Burning Flag -- draft one
If a thing
Like soul could escape
From house keys,
It would escape in the
Form of a carpenter ant.
I know this when I drop my keys
To close the garage—
But then I do
What we all do—
I ignore,
Walk away,
With my mind
On the night
And my hands in my pockets.
It’s nights like this that the cold wet
Bottle of a beer
Could solve the loneliness of the largeness
Of the Midwest,
That could scatter the
Laughter and gunshots
Into echoes to match
The regret of an unasked proposal—
He who fears to wed or attend,
Taking classes for the
Slogan of sunny days
In May, warm speeches that rise in auditoriums,
Breaking, signifying nothing, the bottom
Of an advertisement—
The space under the contract signature,
The shrug of the shoulders:
If we only worked a little
Harder to hurt a little more
We might begin communicating,
Trading hobbies,
Finding the path of the
Chippewa high over the river’s
Remnant – he came here wounded;
Even his blood softened the earth,
Even his effort was dispensed,
Volume into volume,
Mouth-to-mouth,
Season beyond season,
So that getting up
Early never mattered any
More than community action,
Every little bit
Not counting.
Rangers remove only ashes from the pit.
Like soul could escape
From house keys,
It would escape in the
Form of a carpenter ant.
I know this when I drop my keys
To close the garage—
But then I do
What we all do—
I ignore,
Walk away,
With my mind
On the night
And my hands in my pockets.
It’s nights like this that the cold wet
Bottle of a beer
Could solve the loneliness of the largeness
Of the Midwest,
That could scatter the
Laughter and gunshots
Into echoes to match
The regret of an unasked proposal—
He who fears to wed or attend,
Taking classes for the
Slogan of sunny days
In May, warm speeches that rise in auditoriums,
Breaking, signifying nothing, the bottom
Of an advertisement—
The space under the contract signature,
The shrug of the shoulders:
If we only worked a little
Harder to hurt a little more
We might begin communicating,
Trading hobbies,
Finding the path of the
Chippewa high over the river’s
Remnant – he came here wounded;
Even his blood softened the earth,
Even his effort was dispensed,
Volume into volume,
Mouth-to-mouth,
Season beyond season,
So that getting up
Early never mattered any
More than community action,
Every little bit
Not counting.
Rangers remove only ashes from the pit.
