On someone else’s estaterunning through it to avoidthe outdoor wedding there is a gravein a little copse of treesso panting we hang out thereHow beautiful to lie downnot to be the dead ones theretheir eye sockets filled with dirtnothing is theirs anymoreyou pass me a crumpled jointswaying a little like a poemwhile black birds wail in the airand the commuter train wailsall we have to do is make tacostonight and be friends
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- What Sparks Poetry
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Copyright © 2024 by Matthew Rohrer.
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Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
June 2024
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Founded in Chicago by Harriet Monroe in 1912, Poetry is the oldest monthly devoted to verse in the English-speaking world. Harriet Monroe’s “Open Door” policy, set forth in Volume I of the magazine, remains the most succinct statement of Poetry’s mission: to print the best poetry written today, in whatever style, genre, or approach.
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