Polaroid Utopia

First published in
Western Humanities Review

Seven sodden silos of gilded cacti
loom at the top of a dirt lot.
The dirt of this lot is no copper-
speckled cloud. The hedges are barbed
wire. Saguaros swallow thorns in
the coarse rain. An empty cold has
shrunk the city to a Polaroid utopia.
Sacré bleu! Winter is a gaunt gimlet,
insomniac in sand; its new gift, blue
and skeletal, thrumming, who shivers,
“That plague of clockwatchers,
that lazybones of morning commutes!”
And so it is: Everyone applauds
that green sun shyly at the horizon.
For who can ignore the Jesus bug
crossing the pond? And who hides
in clouded soil, sinking to lazier bones?
No one is sick; nowhere, no
sickness. No one feels sick.


About Adam O. Davis

Adam O. Davis is a poet, photographer, test pilot, greengrocer, gardener, thief, liar, truth-teller, bank teller, door-to-door salesman, book binder, night deposit box, logarithm, lamplighter, lobsterman, horse breaker, cat burglar, curt cartographer, carbon copy, cubist octopus, bail bondsman, bad barnstormer, paperboy, teacher, automotive technician, tearful confessor, candyman, cropduster, getaway car driver, top-seeded amateur, surfer, soothsayer, railway brakeman, lightning strike recipient, sinister signpost, unexpected sweepstakes, sentimental jukebox, endangered species, naturally-occurring arch, axeman, ashcan, ashram janitor, freelance writer/editor, speechwriter, ghostwriter, ghostbuster, concierge, cape wearer, lost shoe, lost balloon, floating away from your childhood at an exponential rate. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals, including Boston Review, Grist, The Laurel Review, POOL, Sixth Finch, The Southern Review, CutBank, andThe Paris Review.
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