RYAN J DAVIDSON

★ ★ ★ ★

POETRY

of a Tuesday Evening

If you open the bar and close it,
as a customer, then you’re probably
a drunk. By “you” there I mean “I”.
Not to say I’m a drunk but,

so long as your time is well used, I suppose.
I’m reading Wordsworth again
for the first time. It feels like,
even though I’m doing it in a bar alone except
the drink I’m holding for company, a better misuse
of my time. Not that I need a justification

for taking a holiday, just that it hurts less
than doing what I want. Clouds,
that are close enough to taste, twist
like ballerina children, and the snow
isn’t falling only accumulating. It’s cold

in Austria now. I have managed not to smile
most of the day. Some days I’m sure
I could drown in the fog.

November the 5th

I’ve been watching fireworks
and thinking of why they’re entertaining,
and why, when I’m watching them,
I want a hand to hold. There’s something
about landing on the moon of it,
or getting to the top of a mountain
without walking. When I see something
beautiful I want to feel like

I’m sharing it; the subways in New York
always made me want to hold someone’s
hand. It’s about sharing
something with the people around you;
it’s about more than the people around you.

Since I was a kid I wanted to write a poem
about sitting on top of a mountain
and soaking in the landscape, but couldn’t.
Now I see it is that idea of sharing it
that escaped me. It was Guy Fawkes Day
and I watched a man-made meteor shower
and it was nothing without a hand to hold.