David Wagoner Poems

The three crows are scuttling back and forth
between the gutter and the dead possum
near the yellow-striped center
...

Long ago, we had to admit, in acquisitive English
the Romans knew what they were talking about
when they made a negative out of lucky stars
...

We can't hear what they're saying, but that man
is holding that woman in his arms. Your assignment
is to deduce their thoughts from what they do.
...

At the foot of the cliff, the sea is taking back
what it left there long ago, and the landowners
have made a barricade of three old cars
...

His heavy body would double itself forward
At the waist, swell, and come heaving around
To slam at his seatback, making the screws groan
And squawk down half the row as it went tilting
...

Don't do it, the guidebook says,
if you're lost. Then it goes on
to talk about something else,
...

When Laurens van der Post one night
In the Kalahari Desert told the Bushmen
He couldn't hear the stars
...

That gaunt old man came first, his hair as white
As your scoured tables. Maybe you'll recollect him
...

That child was dangerous. That just-born
Newly washed and silent baby
Wrapped in deerskin and held warm
...

He approaches her, trailing his whole fortune,
Perfectly cocksure, and suddenly spreads
The huge fan of his tail for her amazement.
...