01 January 2012

NEW YEAR POEM 2012

MUSIC OR REPAIR

When I wake I am already
halfway to the park,
dressed for the cold. The elms
are trembling, the roads empty.
Cars have been uninvented.

Three birds are assigned to me: two are silent
and one fills the air with noise.
Clouds swoop like dark kites.
Telephone wires quiver and twang.

In the park,
everyone I’ve never seen before
is milling around.
A tuba lies in the crispy grass.
I also see a toy sewing machine.
Opportunities are abundant, but I can’t
decide which — music or repair.
As a result: tension.

(Tension is a good thing sometimes.
For example, you should stick it in art.)
I step carefully through
an expanse of discarded 1’s,
and where park becomes beach
I watch flocks of 2’s,
with their promise of grace,
glide across the frozen lake
toward me.



Stuart Ross
1 January 2012

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