Tuesday, February 21, 2017

"hemmed in" by John Reinhart, Frequent Contributor

hemmed in

on all sides,
I still find space

late at night
back by the compost –

symbol of rebellious
life – Thoreau’s swamp –

to pee outdoors,
justified as a means

to keep coyotes and foxes
at bay, despite the dog

and the mange that finished
them off years ago,

while my chickens squabble
over Henrietta, late arrival,

and the goats look plaintively
at their empty manger

as if Christmas could answer
their dreams

--John Reinhart

Poet's Notes:  Self-Reliance, wondrous celebration of individuals, though Crusoeian ruggeds need not apply. This is pervasive individualism in conjunction with social progress, contradictory at the molding surface of popular discourse, but leveling out just like that zigzag course of a thousand tacks, which sounds sharp, or at least pointy. I mean, why not have a voyage of a thousand stuffed raccoons? or beanbag chairs? or jello? And if contradiction is problematic, it is only because we cannot see the moon's reflection through the transparent eyeball we may or may not have become, will become, or will have become, depending on how tense 19th century American literature makes you.

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