April 19, 2007

In ten days time, three poets from elsewhere will read some of thier work elsehere, at Ada Books. One of these will be Elizabeth Hughey, winner of the Iowa Poetry Prize in 2006. Her book, Sunday Houses the Sunday House is even now on my desk, awaiting your curious eye and ear. Here is a poem from it I especially like. It's called SQUARES AND PROMANADES and I quote it whole: Walking home from the supermarket, I encounter five picnicking youths who appear to have consumed several bottles of wine. The heavy-lidded young lady casts a look at one of the young men. She has more to offer than oranges. Further on, two women on the sidewalk make plans while a boy cries at their feet. I suggest they stop this. Stopping the noise, though, will not stop the sadness. Looking closely, I can still see the outiline of a fuck you from this morning. It smells of aftershave and sounds like a man walking two dogs. By sunset, his cigar will be gone, but the smoke will stain his teeth for good.

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