Asbestos Heights. David McGimpsey
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Название: Asbestos Heights

Автор: David McGimpsey

Издательство: Ingram

Жанр: Зарубежные стихи

Серия:

isbn: 9781770564152

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ ham

      rather than beach gear, which only affirmed

      the Spanish maxim: You always end up

      eating the Iberian ham you love.

      Blackberry

      Eventually, my critique was refined to

      ‘I hope all you sickening snobs just die.’

      I ate blackberries every morning (once)

      and held on to my earned, mature insight.

      What people generally liked about me

      was the thought they could do my job.

      The quality my closest friends loved most

      was that I was ‘a generous tipper.’

      I read on some site blackberries were good

      for the lungs. I knew they tasted really weird.

      Fruits that taste good have soda pops based on them.

      Isn’t that right, Diet Sierra Mist Kiwi?

      Did I mention all the blackberry smoothies

      and drinking them in one gulp, imagining

      I was steadying myself on Jesus’s shoulder?

      Jesus, of course, would just have Diet Sprite.

      Canola Flowers

      If you tore off the tops of canola –

      yellow canola flowers – would you

      jump in a tub of canola margarine

      just to make the best of despair?

      Do you miss those bed-bound Sundays we had?

      You’d read classic American novels

      and when it was Henry James you would scream

      at the heroine, ‘Oh, just bend over!’

      Into the acacia you go, scowl mouth.

      Into the acacia with you, whatever

      Jonathan Franzen novel with the girl

      who chews the cuffs of her new blue blouse.

      Like heartfelt, canola is a made-up word.

      It brings together Canada and oil.

      It’s a tub of fun you’ll be glad to call

      I Can’t Believe It’s Not More Meaningful.

      Columbines

      In the kingdom Plantae, in the ‘You stink,

      Ophelia’ class, four of five columbines

      mark the spot where I finally decided

      to increase my social media profile.

      O, Annie Facebook, Clarissa Twitter -

      we’re going to the prom! I shed real tears

      just because my poem for Beyoncé

      was rejected by the Malahat Review.

      Could the columbines be mashed into scent,

      giving me a resilient mountain freshness?

      The answer, after that long flight to Paris,

      was a resounding absolutement pas.

      Still, I knew I was going to pluck and pluck,

      and I plucked until plucking became my life,

      well beyond any interest in sowing

      and its much-funner cousin reaping.

      Tulips

      Corduroy once ruled the kingdom of pants.

      I was still writing poetry back then.

      Or, whatever it was I did back then

      that made people say, ‘That’s not poetry!’

      The tulips my father planted back home

      bloomed steady most Easter-times, sure as

      the plans I sketched out to start feeling good

      got crumpled alongside a map to Rome.

      Casting ‘foul light upon neighbouring ponds’

      was not my cup of Sprite, but I enjoyed

      choking with anxiety whenever

      the seasons made a definitive change.

      Fall was all university khakis

      and old Nantuckets braying, ‘Hey, Corduroy!

      Your footgame burger garbage is garbage!’

      until it was finally footgame season.

      Nasturtium

      I took careful notes on the nasturtiums,

      ticking off each one I saw. Over the year –

      year and a half? – I saw near six hundred.

      The best and dumbest thing I ever did.

      As long as it rains, nasturtiums will grow

      and the cycle of life, from grassy spore

      to Mars Incorporated’s decision

      to make pina colada M&Ms, will go on.

      Oh, through it all, nose after heady nose,

      racking up scores, I started to lose heart;

      it sounds fancy and fragrant, when, really,

      I couldn’t be bothered with instant soup.

      Bring primrose like tomato soup

      and jasmine like a fresh oyster chowder;

      O daffodilly-coloured chicken noodle,

      O nasturtium with cloved pumpkin flower.

      Johnson’s Blue Geranium

      As late I returned to that corner café,

      so СКАЧАТЬ