« Brian Blanchfield | Contents | Harriet Levin »

Jeffrey Allen

Heresy, heresy everywhere

 

 

Shelley knew that the only

way for an atheist to have ghosts

was to make their own,

so he brought gunpowder

and matches to school and blew

up his desk. Years later, he discovered

that sometimes a baby

held high in the air on a bridge

is just that, and sometimes

your arms will disappear.

If this happens at noon,

everyone’s wallets will

open, paying for the opportunity

to beg for forgiveness.

This is what all poetry is about.

I’m always looking forward

to different weather, to new shoes,

to the death of my boss. A dog

tongue knows best, and the prettiest

girls hate their fathers.

I’m dressing like it’s cold outside,

I’m dressing for a war.

Shelley knew the best part about a pistol

was that it went with everything.

 

« Brian Blanchfield | Contents | Harriet Levin »