Peter Leight ~ Four Poems

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.