Colin Webb
His shoes green & charming alreadybenched, park overlookingharbor, past tidesthat weren’t always colonialor called the Chesapeakeor tunneled thru via I-95… same heightsthat gave the Susquehannockthe idea to stay & buildwhen they too were sick ofthe hike & the next flair of youth fosteringtheir indifferent liberties board overbrick home rows, arachno-backedcathedral stone a dirty cobble of sky-pessimismpermitting the commerce of Cobbler/New Balance, his shoesstepping those blocks then grassFed Hill, waiting stillfor the new kids in New Brandto gang down the laneand make this place feellike something ready to go
A pact very well the most detested man of all timecould have stayed a painter—if he had? sehr geehrte adolf,just keep going w/ your art, keep goingno matter what anybody says, keep goingeven when French tourists spit at youwhile strolling by Schoenbrunnshouting J'aime pas ça! j'aime pas ça! keep goingif no one in the world likes itincluding you, keep going; you just keep goinguntil you die& i will too, okay? Wife, Mother, 1,000 untold dreams…. from most recurring to least:an honestly quiet home, just itsstark working-sounds, your homeyou could’ve died making, your homethat made you Homemaker, your homeyou always found fault with, or just seemed toalways be working out, your homeat its work—AC hushing sustainingsecrets thru vents, ceiling ductworkknocking the heat On, foyer clocksnapping seconds off the cold long walls (different dreamseasily morph from here, all the choice colors workingroom to room to room), the morning draft straining thru windowsyou cracked in another room, Mr. Coffee plugged insaying something dim, and not a damn wordfrom the washer/dryer…. memories of choicepast sounds pass thru, home haircutssnip-snips of laughter, Mrs. X saying the boys are looking handsomeat church, memories moving elsewhere…. the 999th dream being:each kid married & there for Thanksgiving dinner Colin Webb is a native of Baltimore, Maryland. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in White Wall Review, Apeiron Review, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, The Northern Virginia Review, and elsewhere, and he has been a finalist for The Arch Street Prize.
A pact very well the most detested man of all timecould have stayed a painter—if he had? sehr geehrte adolf,just keep going w/ your art, keep goingno matter what anybody says, keep goingeven when French tourists spit at youwhile strolling by Schoenbrunnshouting J'aime pas ça! j'aime pas ça! keep goingif no one in the world likes itincluding you, keep going; you just keep goinguntil you die& i will too, okay? Wife, Mother, 1,000 untold dreams…. from most recurring to least:an honestly quiet home, just itsstark working-sounds, your homeyou could’ve died making, your homethat made you Homemaker, your homeyou always found fault with, or just seemed toalways be working out, your homeat its work—AC hushing sustainingsecrets thru vents, ceiling ductworkknocking the heat On, foyer clocksnapping seconds off the cold long walls (different dreamseasily morph from here, all the choice colors workingroom to room to room), the morning draft straining thru windowsyou cracked in another room, Mr. Coffee plugged insaying something dim, and not a damn wordfrom the washer/dryer…. memories of choicepast sounds pass thru, home haircutssnip-snips of laughter, Mrs. X saying the boys are looking handsomeat church, memories moving elsewhere…. the 999th dream being:each kid married & there for Thanksgiving dinner Colin Webb is a native of Baltimore, Maryland. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in White Wall Review, Apeiron Review, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, The Northern Virginia Review, and elsewhere, and he has been a finalist for The Arch Street Prize.