Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Travelogue

This tree is five hundred years old,
and this boulder is hard proof
of an ancient glacial age,
and you sit there–feigning polite interest.
You wonder why I am taking you on this tour,
pointing out geologic history and
badmouthing the owners of local estates.
Words spill forth like arrows missing their mark,
the horrible misfires of a rank amateur,
and I am too nervous to even take better aim.
You are the only history I seek
to point out to others some future day;
until then I still circle the region,
stealing glimpses, knowing you are the map,
the directions, the reason I move and speak.
As we pass, I note the design diva’s
newly restored guest barn;
I talk on, unable to say anything.
 
 
GGSmileGary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, and teacher. His works have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, as well as “Best of the Net.” He is a champion of the underdog who often composes to an obscure power pop soundtrack. His first collection, Small Consolations, is due out in 2015 from The Aldrich Press.
 
 

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Categories: Poetry

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1 reply

  1. A fine one, Gary–and I know the feeling. Looking forward to seeing it in the book.

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