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DEAR SUBURB, by David Roderick

Some blunt hammering set me off,
that and the teeth of a saw.
I left behind my sweater,
the remains of a sandwich, my camera,
some paperweights, my lament. I left behind
a few weak coals I’d blown alive.

Some blunt hammering set me off,
that and the teeth of a saw.
I left behind my sweater,
the remains of a sandwich, my camera,
some paperweights, my lament. I left behind
a few weak coals I’d blown alive.
This happened somewhere
off one of your forgotten roads,
just past a farm stand where customers leave
a little corrugated shed
with the smell of rotting corn-silk in their clothes.
The important fs are focus, flatness, and frame.
As I walked toward a harvest
of photographs you vanished
in the pinhole just beyond
my reach, like an owl in its darkest seat.

 

Listen to David Roderick’s reading of “Dear Suburb,” below…

 

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About David Roderick

David Roderick
David Roderick is author of Blue Colonial, winner of the APR/Honickman Prize. New poems have appeared recently in Poetry, The Georgia Review, The Southern Review, and Orion. He teaches in the M.F.A. Program for Creative Writing at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro.