Yes, I realize that it’s already Epiphany, and I’m just now getting around to posting my well wishes here. My apologies–and I hope your year is off to a great start!
I’ve already received my first 2018 rejection for a little something I wrote on December 31 and sent to Rattle Poets Respond.
For the fun of it, or the heck of it, here it is:
Baby, What Will We Do with This Baby?
The man at the side of the street stuffs
balloons into the van, bunches of white, black,
silver helium-filled, buoyancy bubbling
into the van’s gullet packed to the gills
for some celebration, the year’s end,
the nascent next, how America used
to worship the new and now embraces
one past or another, the years we barely
remember sticking like gum to our shoes,
and driving by these bobbling clusters, I blot out
thoughts of them popping into the ocean,
rubbery rags snagged in tern, turtle, tuna.
Instead, picture them a constellation of suns
brightening the later night, lifting lighter
than the air we’re breathing, and might this year
we all rise to each of our own occasions.