J.W. Burleson photo / Boquillas del Carmen, Coah.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Kate Northrop poem, "The Man on My Roof"




            The Man on my Roof--
                                    (early in the morning)


Hey, my neighbor calls up, Hey Man!  His voice
Makes straight for the roof--

But who squats on my roof, arms
Around his knees, stares at the roof

Like a boy in a small field, lighting a fire.

.


And however the early sunlight
Covers my bungalow    with streets, pollen, shrubs

The police arrive directly, arranging themselves
Around the dream of the squad car.  Let’s quit
Dicking around,   someone says.

The man lifts his head.

He shakes his head, a little sadly
And holds one hand up, like someone
Who is sorry, he must interrupt--

But he won’t look at us, as the sun
Rises beyond us

And horns & stereos also rise   until whoosh,
The morning’s kaput and day assembles

Into sheet music, storefronts.  (The world you know

Will not meet, although the slanted rooftops
Flash, immediately in the light.  Gleaming,


They darken, I’m telling you, like large sea-rocks.)

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