Later, Lockaby
Ian, I told you I’d write this poem and now it’s become March. The city froze over and Epiphany came and I still haven’t started painting my living room. I’ve been lost in Carnival and busy finally getting fucked and trying to keep my head together about it all. It just fell to the bottom of my list. Now it feels stupid to be so literal with the tulip magnolias and azaleas all blooming, the jasmine being freaky and showing up too soon. The corner store guy puts rice out for the pigeons but the crows beat them to it every damn day. Maybe the moment’s gone and I was projecting when I said that dawdling is a crow word.
—Clark Bucko
illustration by Sadie Wiese
