Eric McHenry


Country: United States
Language(s): English

Copying the Master

Your book falls open to reveal
the poems I wish were mine
because those were the leaves I spread 
widest on the scanner bed,
leaning on the heel
of my right hand until I heard the spine.

 

Crying With Glasses On

It’s such a grownup thing to do,
Like renting tap shoes to perform
for no one in an electrical storm.
What’s wrong with you?

Remove your spectacles and cry,
already. If there’s rain
on your side of the windowpane
you’re probably the sky.

What’s the intention of a tear
if not to lubricate and cleanse?
I’ll tell you: a corrective lens
is making things too clear.

In college I could see the future 
coming and would often 
pop out my contacts first, to soften 
its least attractive feature.

If you’ll just give it half an hour,
grief will discover 
you drawing steam-roses in the shower,
 and join you, like a lover.