For the repose of the soul
of Lindsey Buckingham
Brandon Holmquest
The police department
has some lovely flowers,
but still,
it's hard to see
that as grounds for
reconciliation.
I mean, there are
armed men everywhere.
It's intolerable.
It doesn't matter
what they're doing,
even if it is just
directing traffic
around the static mass
of people and tables
called a festival.
You wind your way
through it on the
path that opens up
behind the booths
and around the trashcans.
And when you
sit down
on the other side you
feel the same,
just as when
in motion it seems
there was never anywhere
truly comfortable to sit,
when sitting it seems
there is no such thing
as motion.
Then there's something simple,
like the sun goes down,
a dripping
air conditioner between
us and it,
a drop falls
onto the sidewalk,
breaks
into a hundred
smaller drops,
and they all fall,
then another drop falls.
After that whole
pushy arrest scene,
just before that.
Cop screaming, Got
any needles?
and the guy they were
after simply turned around
when he saw them coming,
put his hands
behind him for the cuffs.
And neither of us
noticed it at first,
they way he
assumed the position,
we saw it
when we remembered it
right after it happened, and
that is what
we are
talking about
when we see
the first drop fall.
Brandon Holmquest edits the poetry and criticism sections at Asymptote and writes poems and translates things, usually poems.
