1.
WILDROSE
A mongrel image for all summer, our scene at breakfast:
a bent iron fence of straggly wildrose glowing
below the sausage-rolls of new-mown hay—
Sheridan splashing in his blue balloon tire:
whatever he touches he’s told not to touch
and whatever he reaches tips over on him.
Things have gone on and changed, the next oldest
daughter bleaching her hair three shades lighter with beer—
but if you’re not a blonde, it doesn’t work.…
Sleeping, the always finding you there with day,
the endless days revising our revisions—
everyone’s wildrose?… And our golden summer
as much as such people can. When most happiest
how do I know I can keep any of us alive?