when you drop
your mate at
the dock or
your children
at school. Don’t
be cool. Don’t
be coy. Or if
you do, don’t
assume it’s
okay to act
that way. For
today may
be your last
chance at
joy before it
flashes away
like a tin
toy in one of
those shooting
galleries in
midways: those
ducks that seem
to paddle a
stream that’s
not a stream
but a rotating
axle,
toothed for
disappearance
& reappearance,
a spit
without point
or flame,
along which
randomly clucks
the whole game.
Source: Poetry (December 2008).
MORE FROM THIS ISSUE
This poem originally appeared in the December 2008 issue of Poetry magazine
Poet Todd Boss grew up on a cattle farm in Wisconsin, and was educated at St. Olaf College and the University of Alaska Anchorage, where he received an MFA. Boss’s pared-down, idea-driven poems are propelled by internal rhyme and balance clarity with a nuanced attention to sound. “I think of poems as pieces of music, or a work of architecture,” he told the Utne Reader in 2009. “The poem is a space that you’re inviting someone . . .
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