Sometimes I wish I were still out
on the back porch, drinking jet fuel
with the boys, getting louder and louder
as the empty cans drop out of our paws
like booster rockets falling back to Earth
and we soar up into the summer stars.
Summer. The big sky river rushes overhead,
bearing asteroids and mist, blind fish
and old space suits with skeletons inside.
On Earth, men celebrate their hairiness,
and it is good, a way of letting life
out of the box, uncapping the bottle
to let the effervescence gush
through the narrow, usually constricted neck.
And now the crickets plug in their appliances
in unison, and then the fireflies flash
dots and dashes in the grass, like punctuation
for the labyrinthine, untrue tales of sex
someone is telling in the dark, though
no one really hears. We gaze into the night
as if remembering the bright unbroken planet
we once came from,
to which we will never
be permitted to return.
We are amazed how hurt we are.
We would give anything for what we have.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Jet by Tony Hoagland )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
- The Zoo Keeper, Maharishi Deja Vu
- Undiminished, Maharishi Deja Vu
- Finish This List Of Chores, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Good circle, hasmukh amathalal
- Live with this moment, gajanan mishra
- The loss may be, hasmukh amathalal
- Stay free from desires, gajanan mishra
- G O P....Profiling - The Black Republican, James B. Earley
- Destroy not, gajanan mishra
- I Have Friends, Lawrence S. Pertillar