Tag Archives: Joe Fletcher

Joe Fletcher: Three Poems


On the way I passed temples
and improvised ceremonies
conducted in hushed voices
in the blue shade of arches.
Cabbage heads floated
in a tub of dirty water.

A woman's skin was scuffed
by lice. We shared a cigarette
while the laughter of carpenters
splashed against the buildings
and us. I felt replenished
just watching things:

A ferry churned. A goose
marshaled her young through
a tunnel of brittle stalks.
We entered a building
time had half-eaten.
Fading graffiti insulted us.

I roused myself to partake
of the dialogue sparked with
conflict. The room stank
from a shattered olive jar.
We were yearning
in our shirts. If the nurse

wouldn't come I would
invent her and call her Gloria
and believe in her strongly.
I left to follow my telluric arc,
with my whalebone slingshot
and the flask given me

by the pilot in the bathroom
who furiously scrubbed
at a wine-stain on his collar.
Thus began the migration,
the eschewing of books, the sky
profuse with orbs and orb-streaks.

I wandered beneath their aegis,
in the company of oblong clouds
cascading behind monuments.
I had a few folkloric tokens with
which to impress the children.
The animals watched

with indifference from their
indentations. A spray of glass
winked from the road shoulder.
I muffled my radio with the tattered
coat I found. There was blood on it.
The blood was mine.

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Posted in ISSUE #3 FALL 2007 | Also tagged | Leave a comment