The Maud Poems (an excerpt)

Jeehosaphat


     Good grief, you don't have the sense God gave geese. I told you this morning, I won't be your chauffeur. And take that ratty thing off.

          Where the jays upset the feeder—
          under the house where Jamaica hid—
          hands in brook-water, cold—

     Something wasn't quite Hoyle about the way she got that A. No, I don't like your just hanging out.


     Oh, piffle. That's not what you said last night.






Poem reprinted from Meme (University of Iowa Press, 2012) with the permission of the author. All Rights Reserved.