031317

bargun momb

This is a concrete poem,

with grass poking through the cracks,

and a pin, down between the slabs

where it can't be reached,

an acid stain in front of the chemistry

building,

and not a few scratches from file cabinets

and the like.

This is a concrete poem,

paving over my whimsey,

and the all-too-common urge

towards obscurantism.

This is a concrete poem,

vulnerable to acid,

and the violence of a critical hammer.

This is a concrete poem,

but some time ago

I was carrying it to a reading,

and a little piece broke of

underfoot (1991), my first chapbook. Inspired by a comment by the late Bob Grumman.