anthony frame
Grunge Poem, 1995
It wasn’t about not bathing
or drying our hair into twigs.
We wanted to hear mortality
in the opening notes of “Today.”
Like the paraplegic
at the free Smashing Pumpkins show
who body surfed in his wheelchair,
head banging a path to the stage.
So, lacking cows, we drove our nights
deep through the suburbs to tip
over port-o-johns while singing
I can’t wait for tomorrow.
I might not have that long.
That boy became our legend
as Billy Corgan held him on stage,
the wheelchair swallowed below.
Letter to a Former Student Recently Deployed to Iraq, Summer 2007
The wedding was wonderful.
As you and Shelly look back, forget
the storms, the traffic, the way
your mother cried stains
on your new uniform. Think about
Shelly, her eyes, the picture
beneath the oak tree. You both
deserved better weather. When the priest
presented you, I remembered
your essay, the one where
your motorcycle cursed you with its tires
and your knee cap shredded −
how did you say it? − like a cloud.
Does it rain where you are now? Why
do I think it doesn’t? As if Iraq
was some alien planet, a land
where the ground is all ash and the air
is heavy with chemical formulas.
As if Iraq was a world where it made sense
to ask you about the weather.
