It’s not what you fling; it’s the fling itself.
“Chris in the Morning,” Northern Exposure TV Series
Hardly the fanciful carousel overlooking
the Champs de Mars and La dame de fer
the red, iron merry-go-round outside
the one-room red brick school
and 8-year-old anarchists on spring days.
we caroused to our hearts’ content.
As the cat chases its shadow,
the dog chases its tail—and eventually
discovering there’s nothing to it,
that nihilist philosophy.
And no more intent than hip-booted anglers,
drawing on air an invisible calligraphy
to mesmerize both fisher and fish.
Now picture a charred piano, soundlessly soaring
overhead; a backyard rowdy with goats, chewing
spiny remains of last year’s holiday trees
as if a poem might arise from the froth
of mind without the opening of a door,
without first hearing her voice from the other side
Come back in an hour. I want to take a bath.
Without the appearance of a runaway dog.
Daniel Lusk is author of eight poetry collections and other books, most recently Every Slow Thing, poems (Kelsay Books 2022), and Farthings, eBook (Yavanika Press 2022). His work is published widely in literary journals, and his genre-bending essay “Bomb” (New Letters), was awarded a 2016 Pushcart Prize.
