LOVELY WEATHER FOR DUCKS
We met in a bar, of course!
Back when I was twenty-one and still
American. If it’s impossible
to be from nowhere, then perhaps I’m fiction,
an overly dramatic cliffhanger. Poetry
this wild-goose soul
is yours to reign over. It’s always
oh, Natalie. What a worn-out sigh,
the only thing I know and never
understand. Unfold all will, but why must I
in your anonymous arms? I swoon at shiny
flecks of gibberish. My heart is full
I wish I could read
you like a label or a book
of physics. Where are my laws? And yours,
you philandering Romeo? I see you
swinging from the moon toward
every balcony in the night. I think of a rag-
doll body – limp.
The way it might tumble and fall. Oh,
the messes I make
in my mind! The sight of a star
shooting through the sky swallows me whole.
I’m startled awake by a strangling hand,
my own gone numb, gone crazy. What worth can be
found in simply getting by? Tell me again
how every story ends. Two birds
in the wood, hand full of my throat
or at least what it’s itching to say.
You never asked for anything, but I gave you all
the lint in my pockets.