restricted access Because You Look for Yourself in My Poems
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1 B e c a u s e Y o u L o o k f o r Y o u r s e l f i n M y P o e m s You are the man with the gun, and you are the victim. You are the gardener washing muck off the sidewalk, the handyman tarring a roof with an acetylene torch. What skill you have. I fashion you in his hair which falls into his face as he bends, even in her posture in the coffeeshop window. But I cannot lie: you are also the seventh-parking-ticket man raving at the meter maid, the boy grimacing as he runs full speed, kicking the base when he’s called out. I disguise you: the drone of the lawn mower during an afternoon nap, a sweetgum burr in the patch of violets, a ferry pulling out to sea as it goes white in the sun, unbearable glitter. The robin who built a nest on the mailbox in two hours. The name on the letter inside. The subject of the confession. ...


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