January 2024
Bio Note: A couple of poems for the new year from my new book. We’re all getting back on the treadmill now, right?
Diorama
Take a shoe box, set it on its side. Color the knotty pine paneling brown. Place a small nuclear family in the early American chairs. Macaroni and cheese bubbles in the oven, and the crust thickens on a loaf of banana bread. The den is an altar to the black & white TV. There’s a fireplace in the living room, but no smoke in the chimney, and no one listens to the hi-fi, where records, shiny black platters, once spun, music threading from the scratchy needle. The mother stands by the stove, waiting to serve. The father has tamped down his anger for the night. The children are quiet, waiting for the future.
from Slow Wreckage (Grayson Books, forthcoming)
Treadmill
We lift weights. We feel great. We do yoga. We eat granola. We ride bikes. We take hikes. We sip green tea. We do pilates. We swim laps. Don't take naps. We run miles. We dress in style. We're the Baby Boom. We die soon.
from Slow Wreckage (Grayson Books, forthcoming)
©2024 Barbara Crooker
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