Western
The horizon backs up
the landscape
is full of real estate.
The light is bright
then goes out
altogether. Roundup—
it’s time to consolidate.
Trot and gallop
then sag. Straighten out
in order to circulate.
Red hills pop up
in baby blue air.
The edge is near
like a clue
you never pick up.
Cold in blue
air and hot
in red light.
The bad guys don’t know
they’re not going to make it.
Riding in the rear
of the rearview
gallop and trot
trot then wait.
It’s too late to get
away before they know
what to escape from. Not
that there’s anywhere
to go. Not right now.
That’s why they’re here.
~
You’ve Been Delayed
between Point A
and Point B
they’re truly sorry
too much precision to be
honest you lose flexibility
it’s a bad feeling when you’re not
in time worse when you don’t find out
in time nobody wants to wait
indefinitely they’d prefer not
to mention it
nothing definite
there are so many
things we don’t need to say
Without Point B
what is Point A?
Point A is nothing without Point B
~
Essay on Guilt, in Which I’m Admitting Everything
I’m standing against the wall
as if I’m the one who did it
or I’m the one who knows the one who did it
maybe we did it together
or I’m helping out
like an accessory
I have a theory there isn’t much evidence
to dig up as long as you’re innocent
it’s only theoretical to be honest
I don’t think I’m admitting anything
that anybody else isn’t admitting
as far as the evidence is concerned
I believe I’m getting warm
or warmer
is it warm enough?
Leaning on the wall with my shoulder
touching the wall like an accessory
or handbag for instance with a cross-body strap
pressed against the wall
as if I’m guilty as charged
I have a theory that a person’s innocence
needs to be disproved
it’s mainly theoretical
I think I’m admitting everything
I can think of
or I’m the one who’s thinking about everything I’m admitting
I have an open mind
not actually open
but looking for an opening
I have a theory you don’t even know
the evidence is buried
until you start digging it up
~
Essay on Uncertainty, in Which I’m Watching TV
When they call my name
I’m pulling out my dog tag and reading it out loud like a story
I don’t even know the words to
I’m not even sure if I’m a universal donor
Or a rare receiver
One type or the other
Is it easier to be uncertain
When you don’t know if you’re mistaken?
As long as I’m uncertain I lay my hands
On my lap to see if they stay
At the same time
I’m whispering like a beachball
Losing air
I don’t know if it helps
Is it easier to be uncertain
If it doesn’t help?
When they call my name
I don’t know what they want from me
When I don’t want anything from them
I often turn on the TV
To watch people on TV
Talk about what’s wrong with something
They don’t even care about
When they’re not on TV honestly
What’s wrong with them?
Are they looking for something
to be mistaken about?
It’s easier to be a donor when its universal
I mean there are times
When you don’t even know
If you’re uncertain
Right now I’m letting my hands lie
In my lap to see if I’m going to pick them up
~
Peter Leight has previously published poems in Paris Review, AGNI, FIELD, Beloit Poetry Review, Raritan, Matter, and other magazines.