And the Wind Sings Boo

You know you’re in
The choicest of spots,
When, staring out the window
You feel a gaping void wheeze
Inside you. Bang, bang, bang,
Flounders a bluebird against
The plate glass. Slap, slap,
Thump, drops the sad truth
Through your bones. So there
It all is. Live Oak. Magnolia.
Mulberry bush. No one
& everything. All there.
Edged sharp by the white-
Hot sun, an old woman wheel-
Chairs by, gnawing at
The mush in her fist
Beneath the tiny umbrella
Duct taped to the chair.
Everyone & nothing.
All of it, of us. Good old
American folk with our
Failing & voluptuously bodies.
Dogs bark as she scoots
By the bluebonnets planted
On the street’s edge. I say
Pick a number, any number—
There are millions of ways
All of this is being destroyed
& who, what’s next? What
Needs us? I say, I say, I say—
The wheel chair is just a ball
Of silvery light down the street
When I see the car out there
That can parallel park without
The driver. What is that music?
What fills my ears when I watch
My neighbor lift his hands
From the wheel & give me
A thumbs up, grinning,
As the sleek-curved car
Reverses perfectly
Into the tight spot?

Front page image by Rick Kimpel.

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Alex Lemon

About the Author

Alex Lemon is the author of Happy: A Memoir, and the poetry collections Mosquito, Hallelujah Blackout and Fancy Beasts. A book of essays and a new poetry collection are forthcoming from Milkweed Editions. His writing has appeared in Esquire, The Huffington Post, Best American Poetry 2008, Satellite Convulsions, Tin House, Kenyon Review, AGNI, The Southern Review and jubilat, among others. Among his awards are a 2005 Literature Fellowship in Poetry from the National Endowment for the Arts and a 2006 Minnesota Arts Board Grant. He is a frequent book reviewer for the Dallas Morning News. He lives in Ft. Worth, Texas, and teaches at TCU. He is and tweets as @Alxlemon.
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