I bought a new red sweatsuit
to keep myself in the game.
It worked like the worst kind of music.
Birds kept flying past my head.
I skipped my dentist appointment.
I thought I’d meet up
with the visions all those poets
promised. You know who I’m
talking about: William Carlos Williams,
Edgar Cayce, Mr. C.W. Post.
Broken rhymes for a broke-down time.
At night we’d roll the ice cream man
down his wooden slide
and lock him up inside
his broke-down ice cream house.
We didn’t try to pry out all his secrets,
but drove away, hardly noticing the snow.
Copyright © 2010 John Beer
Used with the permission of Canarium Books.