MARCUS WICKER IS TODAY'S POEM
Twice this poem, today's Poetry Daily feature, says "stay with me."
Don't worry, poem! I'm so there in your language I'm not sure I could leave if I wanted to.
Reparations Redefinition: Bond
Noun: A uniting or binding element or force.
The thing about facing your fears head on
is it only really works on TV. As an example, let’s say
a clawfoot bathtub teeming with arachnids
is your garden variety anti-fantasy.
Now, say the sitcom dad in you gets the itch
to do something experiential, something special
for your 40th (stay with me), so you willingly
dive into a pool of 10,000 tarantulas, head-
first. In the Fear Factor version
of this midlife episode, Ludacris is like
Man, white people are crazy.
In reality, this sounds like a frightful fucking
Read the whole poem here.
I'm not sure there's a "sitcom dad" in me exactly but whatever is there gets "the itch / to do something experiential, something special" (there's an understatement, that "special").
There's also not that same kind of oak tree (read on, if you haven't yet), but the "aerial vantage" I'm getting all the way through is definite.
I'm saying "I understand what steers our national / stasis, our fossilized political animals, & I / forgive us" persuades me.
Stay with me? As if I could not.
As if this poem didn't keep talking, even after the last word.