Lawrence Beck Poems
A Late Fall Day
My past is here, a heap of shards, and, on
A day like this, so gray and cold and
Claustrophobic, I can sit and sort through
Them. I find a walk to second grade
In sloppy snow. The streets are black,
And little rivers run along their sides.
I see my feet in them. A sunny day
Sometime in summer, laying on a
Towel on a rock above a frigid
Stream. I shiver, freshly out of it.
My father's on the other bank. My
Sister's in an inner tube. My guinea
Pig is dead. The neighbor's dog
Came in and killed it in my room.
My own dog at my side, I slip ...
Wouldn't it be great to be an ugly
Fish, all teeth and head, from in
The ocean's darkest depths, caught
On a hook and brought to light, and
Wouldn't it be better if the angler
Didn't cut the line and let the fish
Drift down again, and wouldn't
I feel like that fish, if ever you
Would talk to me when others