—after John Ashbery
While you tinkered with that watch that keeps on
acting up, keeps you up (and wouldn’t wake you up)
the rest of us trekked with the captain for tacos
from the back of a truck. A ribbed false sunset
flat at sea met us from the distance,
the mouth of the city breaking cloud cover
clearing around blocks of transport ships,
splotches under the radar a joke
planted in bystanders. Who’s a taker?
Heroes fold, triangles for a better day.
“Daddy, don’t dance that way” starts it.
The fullness of the world settles in, you say,
scanning places to take place beside us
thus tightening in us, overworked to
sort the mad rush, what what and no boy
wonder rushing in from the other side of the city
to free us. Since you dialed in telling us not to bother
leaves fall out of season as they will. We’re nowhere now
and, it would seem, the future—sending notice
for the tête-à-tête in Copenhagen, more sunflowers.
(Nov. 7, 2014)