Sunday, September 15, 2024

All the wrong role models

Tolstoy,  Michener, Dreiser,  Hollywood

—my mother


they all led me on with exuberant tales
of abnormal adventure. 

As if surviving a war were

a necessity

to a life well lived

As if just one or two lovers were

a squandering

of youth

as if each love must make you feel
as if your heart were a cliff

collapsing into the sea

as if you must wake up each day
in an ancient world capitol

and adventure about the ruins all day
as if you lived in an opera

as if the world were a stage
and you must play a part—
a part far from the middle of the road,

your heart flying right

into a typhoon's belly.

That’s how my newborn nerves

got fired up with unquenchable longings

and how they were sunk, too,

because something always weathers

every gain away

making unhappy endings—

          but the ending too must not be average—


there must be an orchestra, enemies,

          a great speech to the masses

—something you can take a final b
ow for.