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
woe our good kaspar is dead
who will wear now the burning flag in a braid who will crank the coffee grinder
who will lure the idyllic deer
ADDRESS ME, I said, and I meant “please speak.”
“Oh you mean UNDRESS ME,” one said and turned.
Why was soul not solar, not solid?
“Oh, stylists try, but hats just don’t come back!”
A sub- or super-sensibility,
exquisitely fine-tuned, can summon up
special information, specially told:
"Oh, murder!" she was heard to mutter, or
"Mary mother of god!" You see how close
these utterances come? Please kiss me, Mom.
I said something nonsensical to them
and they mocked back, "but we're your one design,"
or "you're our one design"—which was it?
The same ideas or different ones condense,
and you don’t have to sleep again.
Garbage is necessary. That’s another issue
Now, according to some sources,
new golfing trends are a commodity,
along with silence, and sweetness.
We talked about the great error
that you can live with
and really can’t afford to get.