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. His first book Maybe the Saddest Thing (2012) was selected by D.A. Powell for the National Poetry Series. The recipient of a 2011 Ruth Lilly Fellowship, he has also held fellowships from Cave Canem, the Fine Arts Work Center, and Indiana University where he received his MFA. Marcus is assistant professor of English at University of Southern Indiana.

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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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