Why I Don’t Read Poets Like James Dickey Much Anymore
Because the weight
of that century
no longer plummets
like a stewardess
disrobing midair
through the hijacked verve
of other cultures
in poems that are
quote unquote crafted
well like the hull of
a transatlantic
frigate or schooner
& even to use
the word stewardess
seems a slur I can’t
forgive & because
the insides of some
of their poems reek
of stale cigarettes
& I want mango
juuled through my lungs
& anyway I
need voltas every
other word not just
around certain bends
in the flat earth’s jumped
curbs
& what ollied laurel
do those
dead poets hold out
for my daughter my wife
my son my dog & me?