Last Friday, I participated in a reading of some of the finalists for the Minnesota Book Awards. Just ahead of me, poet Dobby Gibson read some selections from his collection Skirmish.I really enjoyed the poems he read, and I bought the book afterward. I haven’t had a chance to read the whole collection yet, but here’s one that caught my eye–one of the several "fortune" poems.
Fortune (p. 53)
Every spill aspires to become a lake.
All decay aspires to the condition of Venice.
In 2008, you can contribute $15,500
to a tax-free retirement savings account.
The neighbors, who knows what the hell they’re thinking.
In the splendid September sun, they go couch shopping.
They fall asleep at night praying to live
to see the day you cut down the juniper.
Their spines crave disassembly.
Pain reminds us that this moment is still here.
Happiness reminds us that it won’t last forever.
–Dobby Gibson, all rights reserved
I’m sure we have neighbors waiting for us to do some yardwork (don’t hold your breath, people). And I just finished reading Numbers, by Rachel Ward, and the last two lines of this poem reinforced the theme of that book and thoughts often swimming around in my head.
Stacy at Some Novel Ideas has the Poetry Friday Roundup today. Dig in!