ANSWERING THE QUESTION THAT HAS NO ANSWER
Crisp September midday,
three flights of stairs with son
to outdoors, opening umbrella stroller
& locking it down, a bicycle kickstand,
a quick scan revealing a parking lot
recently re-tarred, re-paved.
What would the Romantics think,
open fields interrupted by malls, split
by divided highways, patches of brown grass
pocking, shadows cast by technology?
This koan of “what do you see”—the simplest
question usually the most difficult, Occam’s Razor
unreliable & not enough, too imprecise
to create an answer that is more than
Sleepwalk, then awake & my son
reappears, blurry, & he is half-awake & maybe
not dressed appropriately for the weather &
I hope that I have my keys because it would suck
not to have them—I was going somewhere--
& watch-less, I wonder how long this has been.
I am distracted by the after to come, the notes
that are to turn to poem, but first: refold stroller,
three flights of stairs, my knee, weather.
GLENN TAYLOR is originally from Detroit, Michigan, and continues to be a huge fan of Detroit sports. In his spare time, he writes music and power watches TV shows on Netflix. He is pursuing his MFA in poetry from Columbia College Chicago.