Whatever it is Julia Child said about the plate
and the shoulder and shrinking the strike zone
put us in a lot of Queen Anne’s lace
and hub caps. Summer ended with a splinter
in the calendar that dreamed equinox,
time in bisected sheets clipped to the clothesline
and other mid-century and late-century foregrounds:
a bowl of soaking beets bruising the water,
a child reaching into a chest and extracting the head
of a doll. In the field we found the dream
of the small Italian car: to be smaller
and more Italian, to drag cans around
the cul de sac. I bought a gun. I bought
a gun but it was a toy and it came with instructions.
Dan Kaplan is the author of Bill’s Formal Complaint (The National Poetry Review Press) and the bilingual chapbook SKIN (Red Hydra Press). His work appears in VOLT, American Letters & Commentary, Denver Quarterly, Ninth Letter, Washington Square, and elsewhere. He is managing editor and poetry co-editor of Burnside Review and Burnside Review Press.