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The Age of Quantum Physics

Most are unwilling
to buy underwear at the thrift store.
But what is willingness
when Afghanistan is a spot
on our minds we can’t locate.  

I buy mens and womens.  

Yesterday at the meat counter
I ordered the roast beef.  

It was unbelievable.
 

Even the butcher’s boy,
whose version of Afghanistan is farther flung—
a black whole, a quark— said chicken?
 

Like wiping egg off my chin
at a funeral for a worn-out pair of lovers who’d exhausted
at least fifteen vocabularies on their drive through Death Valley,
I had to correct him.  

Kick off your converse and swim for your life!  

When the inspector comes
don’t tell him his fly’s down.

 

 



Posted 10/19/13
Published in Poetry International 2013
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