Poems by Robin Becker

Ephemera

Late Butch-Femme

With Two Camels and One Donkey

 


Ephemera

The snake, alphabet of one glide, swims
with its keepsake head, periscoping, and then

we lose it in the pond grass, lashed
among the bottom-feeders. Pocketing goggles,

my gaze tends pineward, to the driest sky
in twenty years (also passing, rain predicted),

a month of sun days. In Fairbanks, all-night baseball
and a picnic breakfast Alaskan-style. Someone's

driving south, to Anchorage, in that luscious uplift
that here will linger long enough for us

to get a sunburn, to get down, to get stung,
to get the hang of happiness and get going.

Get the picture? I do, but just for the moment,
which is why I want it monumental, equestrian,

astride, however I can get it. What's
passing is June, another: peony's scent; postcards

from the lower forty-eight. The frog I trod sprang back
intact, all its receptors set on July.

 

 

 

 

 

 
         
    From THE HORSE FAIR (University of Pittsburg Press, 2000)