Photograph found in the road: bejeweled hand
gripping a limp dick. All parties
suffering from lack of ambition. The hills
of Tuscany won’t dapple with sunlight,
and here it is nearly noon. She didn’t
much want the leather jacket, the vendor didn’t
really care to sell it, she hardly tried
it on, he barely praised her beauty, then
everyone wasn’t hungry and went to lunch.
The rubies won’t glow. The delayed train shrugs
on its siding. The penis appears at ease.
Osteria, osteria, osteria, osteria.
I knew many words but preferred to say
the same ones over and over, like
a photographer shooting four frames
of the same subject, hoping for one in focus.
This clearly among the other three.

Joel Brouwer, "Focus" from And So. Copyright © 2009 by Joel Brouwer.  Reprinted by permission of Four Way Books.
Source: And So (Four Way Books, 2009)
More Poems by Joel Brouwer