Issue 139

Winter & Spring 2011

Poetry W.F. Roby Poetry W.F. Roby

270

A night drive, somewhere on the coast.

There’s a ghost in the car, a noun waiting

not lost but far away, a plaything

or a thought stuck in my throat—

it takes so many bees to fill a hive.

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Poetry W.F. Roby Poetry W.F. Roby

Oh

Close-ups are impossible to swallow,

the details anatomical, subtext comical, some

cheap trick of a zoom button. Instead

let’s praise the big and fundamental: a wedge of soap,

a stone for the soup wilting away in the still-warm tub.

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