=To the War Dead=

Much to our surprise

the Brooklyn Public Library

is closed all weekend.

We stand side by side

in front of the sign

as if we can’t believe our eyes

as if the longer we look

there’s a chance the words

will surrender a friendlier meaning.

Nope. There it is; inexorable

as a graveyard plaque:

Closed for Memorial Day Weekend.

Shit, what a bummer!

Somewhere inside

on a dark shelf

Joe Brainard is safe

between his covers.

I’ll just have to raid his tomb

another day,

that’s all.

You won’t escape me forever

Joe Brainard. You either,

Franz Wright.

Elaine Equi, I’m coming

back for you!
Sharon Mesmer: consider yourself
READ!

Denied books, we stop

at a fruit market.
There’s a woman

crossing the street.

She’s wearing dirty bib overalls and a pair

of long grizzled braids.

She looks like she’s just come in from hoeing potatoes

in Arkansas

or whatever it is you do with potatoes

wherever it is you do it.

She’s walking two dogs,

looking mighty satisfied with herself.

I wish I were that satisfied with my self
just one afternoon of my life.

I feel like shouting, “you go, girl! Rock

those stained overalls, those gnarly braids,

that little paunch,
those grinning, tongue-lolling dogs."

Back home, we’ll sit

at the kitchen table

and split an orange.

I’ll eat my half bitter skin and all.

It’ll be delicious.