James Reaney (1926–2008)

Of the 20,000 things I should be doing this Wednesday afternoon, reading poetry more than likely isn't one of them. But out of the 20,000 things I have done in my life so far, reading more poetry seems like a good thing to do. And reading The Essential James Reaney was certainly one good thing I did.

Page 22 The Ghost

The evening waddles over the fields like a turkey.
I lurk,
Where my knowledge was chopped from my power.
All knowledge waits for you at the corner here so murky.

The awkward doltish low I.Q. farmboy shambles down the steps,
The empty echoing pitcher in his hand:
I am
Ha ha! And his hair stand straight up like brambles.

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