Bay Window Lauds

By Marcus Wicker b. 1984 Marcus Wicker

Cul-de-sac Pastoral

The sill plays a cruel joke—thrones me. Frames me
lording over lawn mower stripes—myself

in a shallow trench. In grass blades. Myself
persisting, despite a dickhead sun—me

in chlorophyll. Early, I find myself
swaying—me! in the black chokeberry, me!

in the rabbit’s throat. Me, the rabbit. Me  
dancing out pellets. Out-dancing myself—

my father’s pellet gun, the hawk. The joke
is a bright belly full of dark hopping

along my father’s garden & the joke
small, between wrapped talons, is the hawking

too, is the axe sun, swift, rising, this joy.
This joy, it swallows itself far too soon!

Source: Poetry (November 2011).


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Poet Marcus Wicker b. 1984

POET’S REGION U.S., Midwestern

Subjects Living, The Body, Time & Brevity, Nature, Animals

Poetic Terms Couplet, Pastoral