Dan Chelotti
PAWTUCKET
Two lovers encased in a coaster.
One has a bird in the hand.
The other lover looks at the bird.
There is a tree. Sheep.
This will not end well.
I put my mug on them.
Last night, I comforted a newborn
And now I am in a rented room
Searching for allusions to codify
The present so I can brag about it.
How is it that the recent past
Feels more foreign than the distant?
The question has an answer
But the answer has no oomph in it.
There is a glass bell with a brass
Handle with the word “Mother” on it.
(We all know who this bell belongs to.)
There is a framed picture of a station
Wagon instructing me to “Take random
Road trips.” Somewhere down the road,
The day is tightening its tie and picking up
Its briefcase. It has a lot to accomplish
And I’m certain I will help it achieve its aims.
When I was a kid I once pushed a line
Of shopping carts in front of the Ames
Department store doors and ran
Shouting I am outside the day
I am outside the day! Then, as now,
I can’t help but to do my part:
There is a splotch of light on the pillow.
I’m going to put my elbow in it
And in so doing cast my most timeless shadow
While in a nearby frame, the false smiles
Of two teens confirming their Catholic faiths implore:
Reasonless earth, why can’t I succumb?