Sunday, 9 September 2012

Sunday Poem


Something caught. A stronger jaw,
a first digit, a current sweeping the smaller
thriving prey to shallow water.

Devonian fluke. Nothing simply walked out;
nothing wriggled quite like doubt
on a bare corkboard of thought,

so we pinned it down, with gusto.
A theory goes that vascular leaves
were shedding in the subtropics,

twining and spreading like fishing nets.
A theory goes something more than blood and scales
was needed to stay anchored in the undertow.

A theory floats, raises sail.
It moves on water that twists
and breaks against itself like a losing team.

A dynasty sets. I wanted to say I regret
not having played more baseball.
I wanted to say you've been gone a long time

for going to get milk, five minutes you said,
and here are your keys
and the doors they open like traps.
From Tiny. Frantic, Stronger (2010) by Jeff Latosik.

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