Saturday, March 19, 2016

Evening in the Park, Almost Alone -- A Poem by B. A. Oard

[Another poem from my rediscovered 1990s notebook. This one finds the poet in a decidedly downbeat mood. I like the way this one begins free and slowly stumbles its way into a depressively mechanical meter at the end. Call it the fallacy of imitative form, but I think it's a pretty cool effect.]

Evening in the Park, Almost Alone

People leave their leavings:
crumpled candy wrapper
Burger bag
old condom
Kleenex rained to pulp

An empty can rattles on the distant parking lot.

Behind the clouds a thumbnail moon
ancient as an angel's scythe
floats glowing through forbidding murk.

I'm waiting for a knife...

Here the sunlight turns to black,
here the clocks unwind,
here I stumble heart attack,
here I lose my mind.

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