February 2010 - Comments Off on Dead Grass

Dead Grass

Emmet Penney '11

To do: remember that he is not you.

You have plateaued where he plummeted, stayed

afloat where he went under. Back when you

were younger, the inert july air made

you woozy in the back yard. He tried

and failed to keep himself from falling in

front of the neighbors. Mr. Baker sighed,

like, Now I know why I never liked him.

You watched as your mother shook him awake

then took him inside. It was like a crop

circle—even the new seeds failed to take.

After enough kids asked you learned to stop

trying at the truth. “It was just some bum.”

You can’t explain where marks like that come from.

Published by: in Poetry, Volume 66, Volume 66: Issue 1

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