Michael Neary © 2012 All Rights Reserved
Some People Are Sleeping and I am Blowing a Trumpet
Yes, the instruments of my inner life
thumbed along: my xylophone cheekbones,
my bassoon lungs. I was an ensemble of circumstance.
I could pop wide open to scores and scores
of incidental strings. I was flinging notes all over
the neighborhood. My world was so abstract
and loud. It was lonely to be
the only boy on the block with a trumpet
in his throat. I always tried to touch
the notes, to happen in my real voice,
to enjoy my two weeks of summer.
Yes, my father was a megaphone.
My mother was a drum.
C. Dylan Bassett’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Columbia, Copper Nickel, CutBank, DIAGRAM and elsewhere. He attended the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and has received an Academy of American Poets Prize.
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