★ ★ ★ ★
A girl works in the garden.
She expertly wields a hoe and pruning shears,
looking like a surgeon on a giant’s body.
Asters and irises sedated by the garden hose
drool and wear silly grins.
A cat basks in the sun, self-conscious,
like a diva from a Titian painting.
I’m so happy I want to cry for joy: I am fired!
The unexpected free time runs around in circles
like a chicken with its head chopped off.
The girl looks at me and waves her hand.
Is it supposed to be symbolic?
A poet sweeping leaves from the streets,
a poet unloading trucks,
a poet covering someone else’s yard with grass seed,
a poet cutting reinforcing wire with an angle grinder,
a poet selling women’s footwear.
A life full of adventures in the style of Arthur Rimbaud.
You’ll be suntanned, seasoned, subtle, snake-like.
A bullet won’t find you, but radiculitis will.
So many centuries have passed, but poets
have never learned how to keep their feet on the ground.
herons not of this world.
Dmitry Blizniuk is an author from Ukraine. His most recent poems have appeared The Pinch Journal, River Poets , Dream Catcher, Magma, Press53, Sheila Na Gig, Palm Beach Poetry Festival and many others. Dmitry Blizniuk is the author of The Red Fоrest (Fowlpox press, Canada 2018). He lives in Kharkov, Ukraine.
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