Poem of the Day
Study of Children
By Asha Futterman
did you know
that you all work for me?
I asked them as a joke
did you know
that you all work for me?
I asked them as a joke
Good Sam is a dealer.
Good Sam is one of the biggest dealers in the world.
Good Sam deals high quality grass and hash.
Here I am, alone in my room, feeling lonely.
Loneliness is horrible. This is an objective
statement. Sometimes I think to objectify
Scrawling the letters of my name,
I found and changed what I became:
With a shriek gulls fled across a black sky,
all of us under the pier were silent,
my blood ached from waiting, then we resumed.
I, detaching myself from the human I, Henri,
without thick eyeglasses or rubberized white skin,
stretched out like a sinewy cat in the brown grass
On this tenth day of the year, I play Stravinsky
and sip vodka from a paper cup, taking in the view.
Tendrils twining, leaves rippling, guts absorbing nutrients,
Naked but for dainty shoes, garter
and a ribbon in her long red hair,
she takes him in the way history takes us in:
Waiting for a deceased friend’s cat to die
is almost unbearable. “This is where you live now,”
I explain. “Please stop crying.” But he is like a widower
In the dream,
a priest said
it was time
Eating a sugar sandwich, I sit at the kitchen table
admiring the geraniums outside the window,
their big heads as American as Martha Washington.