Poetry Thursday... er... Friday

It's late, but it's here. I don't think it's even finished yet, but I wanted to put something up before the weekend hit, so here it is. (Also, I am glad that the prompts are "completely and totally optional", because this went a strange way after I started it.)


Already we begin to anticipate spring, and this is an important difference between this time and a month ago. We begin to say that the day is springlike.

Is not January the hardest month to get through? When you have weathered that, you get into the gulfstream of winter, nearer the shores of spring.


Mostly, I hear the snow under passing tires
and the wind
and I despise the Queen City.
From this side of the Rand building
--I think that's the Rand building--
I can't see the sun, not even through the clouds.

The police, it seems, will never arrive.
My car is overturned, and a nice man pulled me out
and I'm bleeding from somewhere under my hair
and where is my phone? My wife should know about this.
I squint to look near the sun again,
because I like sky scenes
and my stomach kind of hurts
here, and here and I think I hear sirens--


They say that's when I blacked out.
They say it was my fault, that I passed out--
the wreck, I mean.
My doctor wanted to do a colonoscopy
because it's been two years
and I was already here, so hey.
My stomach is bruised some, too
--whaddaya know, it is a little sore here, and here--
You've got to keep an eye on that Crohn's, you do.

They say I woke up for several hours,
entertained visitors, even,
but I don't know.
I'd lie about coming to see me, too,
if I knew I wouldn't know the difference.

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Blogger gautami tripathy said...

This I like. Narrating about oneself, speculating...and being practical.



1:47 AM  
Blogger Peter said...

I like the first and last stanzas particularly. Wonderful tone.

9:14 AM  
Blogger Crafty Green Poet said...

ah, the unreliable narrator.

11:43 AM  

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