Some days are bleak necessity.
Wind roils the river.
The bridge nearly touches
the surface. The rain
has stopped and the floods
are done. Walk the debris field
at water’s edge. The ducks
float by. They are careful.
They find their way.
Some days are bleak necessity.
Wind roils the river.
The bridge nearly touches
the surface. The rain
has stopped and the floods
are done. Walk the debris field
at water’s edge. The ducks
float by. They are careful.
They find their way.
I think you nailed it, John. I didn’t reply on the last two poems which had me feeling lost as I tried to make an emotional connection. This is, of course, in and of itself, and “emotional connection” but it’s one I find counter-productive in a poem. I’m old-school and want poems to be purpose driven, also, I refuse to make the connection between your voice and that degree of disorientation. Just ask yourself, “what would Hemingway have done?” He would have got drunk again. There’s nothing stupid about that! “Iowa River” has been nailed. I wonder, is “Iowa” necessary?
Much obliged, Steve!
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