RockPaperPoem

 

Spoiler Alert

by Scott Lowery

 

We should’ve started earlier—
            the retired motorcycle stuntman
                       with quickening dementia says this

out of the blue, in the French film,
            before he collapses in the nursing home
                       hallway, the staff fervently conscientious

and hopelessly behind, much like when I’d go
            to see my mom, automatic doors opening
                       their ethereal gates, the hush of angels

in mint green scrubs, whispered questions
            at the corner table with nobody there
                       to answer. If we could go back, once

we’ve glimpsed the brick wall, knowing
            there’ll be no last-minute leap across:
                       I suppose that’s what he means by we,

in what turn out to be his final words,
            still thinking, as any one of us might,
                       how to manage differently, even

as dates begin to disappear
            from the calendar, and traffic outside
                       blurs, and evening pulls up the blanket.


Poet and musician Scott Lowery grew up in Minneapolis, and lived almost thirty years in the Driftless area of SE Minnesota. His new chapbook, Mutual Life (Finishing Line Press, 2023), spotlights everyday life against a shared backdrop of climate anxiety, pandemic isolation, and at-risk democracy. Scott’s earlier collection, Empty-Handed (Red Dragonfly Press, 2013), is newly available in an expanded second edition. Recent poems can be found in Bramble, Ocotillo Review, Canary, and Wisconsin Poetry Calendar. Lowery and his wife live in Milwaukee, near their young grandchildren. Find more, including workshops with young poets: www.scottlowery.org.


 

 

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