Dan Chelotti — PAWTUCKET

Dan Chelotti



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

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 Catholics faiths implore:

Reasonless earth, why can’t I succumb?