1. Home
  2. Poetry Magazine
  3. Poems
  4. River Politics
River Politics

Related Poem Content Details

I spit my smack,

Jim slugs his Jack,

Rob stews his lack,

Carey prepares his rack,

herons hunker on blowdowns,

deer wait on high moon for their rounds,

and the campfire

might as well be an empire

we all

watch dissolve

(in the slough, a carp roll, a splash)

into ash.

Source: Poetry (May 2012)

More from this issue

This poem originally appeared in the May 2012 issue of Poetry magazine

  • Search every issue of Poetry

Your results will be limited to content that appeared in Poetry magazine.Search the whole site

River Politics

Related Poem Content Details

  • Search every issue of Poetry

Your results will be limited to content that appeared in Poetry magazine.Search the whole site

Other Information