Blood and Calendars
There is deep terror in how the world
wants to curl around your hand. It is almost
too easy. Monuments collapse with a push.
Let’s place boundaries on the sea before us.
String up ropes. Too much time, too little
motivation. I want to play video games
for whole afternoons. I want to found
a banking empire. If I strap myself down
I can stop the flood.
Before there were weeks, men built ships.
It was done when it was. We could go to war
for decades, if it held our interest.
There is plenty of time to finish the story.
Now we have years by which to decide.
But not now. The days are full.
The Mining Town
Wherever people are going, it isn’t here.
A new ruin every year; today
a wall collapsed on Silver Street.
We never feel so foolish as when
a relic of our fathers needs replacement.
Restored interiors, historical replicas,
all so stupid. Originals persevere
forever, when they can. I never repaired
the basketball court on Grandpa’s land.
The weeds broken through.
John Minser teaches writing at Northern Michigan University and serves as Associate Poetry Editor at Passages North. His writing has appeared at Monarch Review and Eunoia Review, among others, and is forthcoming at DIAGRAM.