Friday, June 4, 2010

He has been unable to tell the truth ever since.

Six-hundred pounds and eleven feet between them,
the couple holds plastic sacks from the grocer downtown.
I've been pounding the sidewalk, moving fast, trying
to kill time. They appear, bouncing from right foot
to left, shifting the mass of their hips-- those spare tires--
made only for a semi-truck on a long, long road,

the plastic strips in lieu of handles digging
into the dense fingers of the husband while
the wife carries only two, both on her right hand.
It continues for blocks, the struggle, protrusions
a foot from their bellies, those bellies!

- from "Moderation" by Ryan Rader (at The Blue Route)

I wore those pants in the snow,
My treaded boots displacing powder

like dust in the expanding universe,
Ankles kept safe in white socks,

the weather speaking in waves.
I remember six distinct summers

of you, the wild dancers,
Punk-hipster art-fag fashion-

-istas, mosh-pit, kickflipping
crowd-surfing social butterflies.

- from "For The Girls By The Drained Pool" by Ryan Rader (also at The Blue Route)

Congratulations to my friend Ryan on this publication.

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