By Laurinda Lind
It’s the opposite of what John
Lennon said he saw through
the installation spyglass in
the leading version of how
he got his second wife and is
what the so-called president
said one week between planes
when asked if he would fire
the special counsel working out
whether he’s sold the country off
overseas, it’s what most of them
said to Spacey or wanted to say
to Weinstein or couldn’t say
to Cosby or meant to say
to Moore or were terrified
wouldn’t work once they tried
it on Trump. One consonant
only and one vowel coming
out the mouth by way of the nose:
No. And what it means is no.
Laurinda Lind lives in northern New York where not long ago, wind blew trees down flat and unroofed a school. Her work has appeared in Blueline, Comstock Review, Constellations, Paterson Literary Review, and Radius; also anthologies Visiting Bob: Poems Inspired by the Life and Work of Bob Dylan (New Rivers Press) and AFTERMATH: Explorations of Loss and Grief (Radix Media). In 2018, she won first place in both the Keats-Shelley Prize for adult poetry and the New York State Fair poetry competition.
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you include links in your comment the whole comment will likely be deleted as spam. You have been warned! Otherwise, dialoguing with these poems is encouraged.