First, you’ll lose track of the date,
and then the days, and finally–
unhitched from any purpose–
you’ll judge each morning only by its weather.
But if you wake to find slate clouds
moored in your postcard harbor,
you’ll take an aimless, rainy drive inland,
leave the salt smell and the townies
placed to decorate the wharfs and quays,
and wander off that postcard
beyond the bell buoy’s warning,
into other people’s workweeks–
past charmless convenience stores,
planned housing tracts, strip malls
and the trash cans that guard the driveway,
and a lawnmower left out in the yard.
And puzzled as to what these people do
all day and why, you’ll head back to the harbor,
trying to find the postcard’s edge as you
begin to worry how tall your lawn has grown.
A Cemetery in Greene, Maine
Slowed to a crawl by construction, we rolled
by the cemetery in our daily
commute processional. The road had grown
wider over time, closer to the headstones,
and I strained to read the inscriptions
on the first row of monuments as they passed.
And the markers, their limestone arches
rounded like the backs of chairs, were propped
in front of their long morning shadows,
lining to the road to watch our parade.
Kevin Casey‘s work has appeared recently in Gulf Stream, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Rust+Moth, Chiron Review, and other publications. The chapbook The wind considers everything was published by Flutter Press last year, the full-length collection And Waking… was published this year by Bottom Dog Press, and Red Dashboard will publish the chapbook For the Sake of the Sun later this year.