7 June 2014

Saturday Poem

You think you’re always thinking,
but try to form a sentence
while you’re driving. A fence.
A pylon. A form of blinking,

like a quasi-town that won’t so much
as marry a Dairy Queen
and an El Rey Del Tacos. Lean
times times out of touch

equals areas where lives
depend more clearly on the wages
of atmospheric averages;
that’s how prayer survives.

Ange Mlinko, from “Wind Farm, Texas.”

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