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Sport 31: Spring 2003

All one can do, really

page 91

All one can do, really

I say, ‘I have never been there.’
So she asks me, ‘Think of
everything you have ever imagined
it to be, then tell me.’ I do.
She says, ‘Not in the least.’

I read this poem about an alligator
and the sun's iridescence
and a terror that deprives
the mind of every movement.
‘Is that interesting?’ she says.

I ask her to talk to me
in the street so people will say
‘See her talking to him.’ She says
how she's never seen anyone listening
look so out of place.

My pulse if I may say so
is like an ocean view in perfect
calm. I tell her that. She says
if palms bend exotically as that
is she ever grateful metaphors

sometimes drown at birth.
I say ‘steel’ and ‘azure’, thinking
her eyes will like it. ‘If it's windows
you're after,’ she says, ‘you'll like
outside even more.’