C A H U E N G A P R E S S
A Poets Publishing Cooperativeproudly announces the publication of
PINOCCHIO’S REVOLUTION
Poems
James Cushing
Details We’re Too Young to Know
The century has tools inside its body.
We’re losing our arms, but we still see our fingers.
Up on a gray hill, two owls sit waiting
for field mice to start their long run home.
I leave milk out for possums, coons, stray cats,
hand-sized furry spiders, old goats: nothing.
The last two years needed weeding and threshing.
I won’t stand in their way again.
My brick childhood smears tar on dream-geese.
The bed feels sad about losing its favorite boy.
I pronounce every word of your morning luck.
I close my eyes, and that is what it means.
The parrot lies dead in its cage,
a pile of chocolate shavings on its plate.
I don’t have a prayer, or even an onion.
I close my eyes again, and this is also what it means.
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