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Older now, he is among us in diminished form, clothes sagging, hat large on the fine head He likes the largest stores acres of socks and tuna where high girders look down on him also who pushes his cart and leans on it a little . . . something sacramental about the belittling perspective something heroic about the high shadows in the niches of the corrugated roof beneath which under spotlights that don't spread far he moves with the people who comb through the aisles pulling down unwieldy batches of single things to last them through cold time that can't be trusted There he is at the far end of an avenue of obelisks of paper head cunningly mobile like a bird's eyes quick like one beading on flecks that might be the morsels that it needs or on grains or seeds At this its faltering morse of chirrups but no long address only the same few wordchains at my feet water water water millet beak millet crack millet air down danger aieeeeeeee But in their multitudes horrific squeals blue golden green their throats and breasts all with the herringbone wingcaps that grind like blades of a thousand ceiling fans in a flaming house After the teak forests were hewn down plagues of parakeets rippled down on the crops themselves a crop digesting menacing no longer charming and observable but like any swarm or heap or tumulus or housing project or array of products or uncountable mass of faces even rich ones repellant You can almost see them in his mind my father's wordchains as they click against each other rapidly succeeding in his mind I've got to get there got to bank today to get to sleep to shave got not to wait a second longer for what I've earned my whole life through the right to want without excuse and he thinks the people at the other end are idiots or when things are going well just helpless or when they know a little fact that he does not (that beating flour too fine will mean the gluten cancels out the baking soda and the rolls won't rise well then that they are smart as whips Eyes almost black behind his glasses shining before the freezer cases of brightly packaged dinners with too much sodium and fat rounds of chicken steaming like eager faces against the costly frost he flies up into the highest branches of the possible air and then goes still at everything spread down there for sale From Volume 190, Number 5, September 2007 Copyright © The Poetry Foundation |