The Trike Returns:
Ring
Janet I. Buck
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Unusual Men
We married unseasonal men.
They don't jet south
when climates turn.
Our eyes are not
used to these globes.
We married unseasonal men.
These torches that weather the chill.
Consider their flesh a quilt to stitch.
Consider themselves
the caulking of art
in any seam that spreads its crack.
I watch him in the waiting room
from behind the rock of a book.
Passage of time is locked in his brow.
Spittles of gray poking
like weeds he'll trample
with boots of his strength.
His love is such a word-less thing.
Its promise a sentence
deep in his loins.
The noun of it all
becomes a verb.
Custard and chips of ice
depress the tongues
of waiting graves.
I can go home and write.
Turn on my heel,
knowing he's meeting
the breath of your need
like a step in a waltz,
knowing he'll walk
in spite of the corn.
We have been handed the dance.
~Janet I. Buck
Janet Buck is the author of four collections of poetry. Her work has recently appeared in PoetryBay, The American Muse, Artemis, and dozens of journals world-wide. Website and what's new. Email.
© 2002 by Janet I. Buck. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated August 31, 2002.