For too long I’ve been a historian,
documenting, archiving photographs
–oh look how geeky we used to look,
with the bangs and other unbecoming
hairstyles–the eighties, oh god!
And then another time you’d lived
in a trailer, smoking marijuana.
Hadn’t we always been complicit
with the times? Time it was when
we’d turned up slavish, predatory,
banal, inhaling the same air.
Those were turbulent times, alive
in the living, all that growing up
being sacred and tangled in blue.
You’d asked. I’d said, we wouldn’t
have done it any differently honey,
steadying ourselves on foal legs.
We’d believed in those values, co-opted
as our own, so why ask again if there’s
a way of holding back. And what of bad
decisions? Doesn’t time heal every damn
thing so there’s nothing to forgive?
“Write an imitation poem. Some folks say imitation is the best form of flattery. So with it being Thanksgiving in these parts, I thought it appropriate to pick a poem you enjoy and write an imitation of it. You can include poet and poem of the original if you’d like; or see if others can guess.
If you don’t have time to write an imitation poem, then try writing a poem about the act of imitation–whether people, animals, or even robots.”