Poem for Paul Thomas Anderson (For Phantom Thread)

 

I’m afraid I might be the Woodcock type.

I too need to poison myself to feel better.

I too cannot tell the difference between

growing colder and growing more earnest.

Better to slave away at your own redemption

than ask someone else to waitress it for you.

But maybe there is someone out there who

knows me well enough to make me slave.

I think I could love a person like that

without ever realizing I was falling in love.


R. Charboneau

 

To Some House Finches

 

You were all about on the bare ground

parsing litter from a naked and spidery tupelo

in the last cold light of day in the backyard.

 

I’d forgotten or was too lazy to spread some seed

that morning, so maybe you’d come back at the end

of a long day’s searching to make one last go of it.

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What it Means

 

The poem tells you what it means

if for instance you drove all the way to buy

a lottery ticket on the California border

because hey you never know about these things,

but there’s a line because nobody’s won yet,

and now the payout is over a billion dollars—

imagine what you could buy with that.

You have to remember you’re at the age

when you’ve started to feel as though

you might’ve missed out on something.

Whatever it is, a billion dollars should cover it

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