Monday, April 13, 2020

Poem During the Plague: Poem 8

Gregg Weatherby is an actor and poet.  He has also been a bartender, ranch foreman, deckhand, and managing editor of SPIN Magazine.  He has written three chapbooks, Under Orion, Bone Island, and Approaching Home.  He is currently looking for a home for a full-length book of poems. He teaches writing and poetry at SUNY Cortland.

In Loco

There are worse places
to be inside any of my old apartments
in the city the only views smudged
sooty windows pigeon-filled
airshafts and garbage-strewn
back alleys heavy metal gates for shutters
no sun ever

here there is light and glass due east
due west views of shagbark  round red maple
willow rising sun
and setting sun and birds
oh the birds I know some of them
by name now one female cardinal
at the feeder three times a day her mate
quiet in the tree mourning doves
three species of elegant woodpeckers
all in their black-and-whites

on the news the curve resists flattening
who would have thought in the city
reefer trucks are used for bodies
in the Spring rain in the burning bush
little wrens shelter in place

1 comment:

  1. He took me to is such views we need when so many have none.