The Hulk is the Patron Saint of Scared Little Boys
For sixteen Saturdays,
I’ve manned this paper house.
Camped on this porch,
been the last in-between.
Inside, sleep is a trust
and I am a guardian.
For sixteen Saturdays,
that green rust crusted Sable
has parked, pointed at our house
hummed with eyes out
under the summer molt of that willow.
That patient asp pretends sleep,
but I see that single red cherry,
burn, flicker right, burn.
Any age is an awful age
to suddenly become a man.
These are the things I know:
--If he leaves the car, he’s coming for her.
--No cop on earth is fast enough.
If there is a blessing for Louisville Sluggers,
for boys half as big as grown men,
for eyes to keep steady wake
until that Sable gets up and growls away…
Somebody, I’m asking.
brilliant. brilliant.
ReplyDeleteI am sure you experienced a lot to be able to write this. my favorite poem you have ever written. no in-depth scrutiny here--stark and amazing.
Well, thank you Joseph. I'm flattered you liked it so much. This is a poem I've been trying to write for a while. Some subjects are difficult artistically and emotionally to put down. I'm glad you thought it was a success.
ReplyDeleteWow.
ReplyDeleteI think having faced similar things as a child, this just hit 'home', for lack of a better term. I hate to sound like such a nerd as I always have enjoyed your work....but this for me, caused the biggest reaction emotionally.
This is the one.
ReplyDeleteA testament to your talent, but equally to the virtue of steady effort.
Aside from the 3 responses here, how do you feel about this poem?
It's hours later and I just read this again. James, it is good.
ReplyDeleteI feel good about it, Jaren. I'm learning to pare down my experiences into smaller bites. I feel like I've been struggling with new tools of story economy and it is good to hear everyone's response on this one. The more I read it, the better I feel about it. It took a while to divorce my emotions and actually weigh the aesthetics. But I'm very happy with it.
ReplyDeleteI feel like the guest at dinner who neglects to complement the chef until the complement is made and then, realizing his folly, piggy backs off the complement adding a seemingly obligatory "yea it is good" even though he really means it. A damn good poem James. I have read and reread, and I will continue to do so.
ReplyDeleteI also think I should clarify: I don't mean to sound as though your other poems are lesser gems and then suddenly you hit upon something incredibly good, but this poem hit something--
ReplyDeletean editorial question: are you committed to using the article in the line "No cop on the earth is fast enough"?
Good editorial point, Joe. Taking out the article gives it a better flow.
ReplyDeleteI love this, James. Can't say enough about this, so I won't try.
ReplyDeletei come back to this poem quite often, in fact. good lord, it is beautiful.
ReplyDelete