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).


This poem originally appeared in the November 2011 issue of Poetry magazine

November 2011
 Marcus  Wicker


Marcus Wicker was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan. He is the author of Maybe the Saddest Thing (2012), selected by D.A. Powell for the National Poetry Series. His awards include a Ruth Lilly Fellowship, Pushcart Prize, as well as fellowships from Cave Canem, and The Fine Arts Work Center. His work has appeared in Poetry, American Poetry Review, Oxford American, and many other magazines.

Wicker is the poetry editor of Southern . . .

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Poem Categorization

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

POET’S REGION U.S., Midwestern

Poetic Terms Couplet, Pastoral

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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