I Say So Long to the Hedge-Rider
Hey, edge-stepper carrying your bag
of quicklime and larks, I thought you'd gone,
hitched your sad self to some old words
like hither and ell, but here you come
tramping through the half-light of the forest
like an idea that is only good on paper.
So here we are at the crossroads—
with each way so dismal, so embolismal,
how will I ever find the curbstone, the term?
Never mind. You are just the ghost
of myself that I will soon be rid of—
I am sending you away, stripped to
your weeds, to your oh-dear in the hallway,
to the series of unfortunate events
that has left me in this darkness
riding the bird cherry and the haw.
From Poetry Magazine, Volume 190, Number 3, June 2007. Used with permission.
of quicklime and larks, I thought you'd gone,
hitched your sad self to some old words
like hither and ell, but here you come
tramping through the half-light of the forest
like an idea that is only good on paper.
So here we are at the crossroads—
with each way so dismal, so embolismal,
how will I ever find the curbstone, the term?
Never mind. You are just the ghost
of myself that I will soon be rid of—
I am sending you away, stripped to
your weeds, to your oh-dear in the hallway,
to the series of unfortunate events
that has left me in this darkness
riding the bird cherry and the haw.
From Poetry Magazine, Volume 190, Number 3, June 2007. Used with permission.
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