Susan Grimm ~ Three Poems

Absurdery

Once upon this time, in a coun­try far away, the ruler was very
old. The red hats had begun to dol­ly him to the podium,

his jack­et flap­ping, at first with the cur­tain closed. He enjoyed
the ride, the breeze of it, like a tilt­ing Segway. Was it necessary

to speak. Everyone could look as long as they wished. Rotating
his flick­er of selves—life sized cutouts, an over­taxed engine

whine—he felt momen­tar­i­ly lost. Hand to his chest—not
alle­giance but a nudge to his heart, an adorn­ment like a clothespin

squeez­ing it shut. He had made a style of this but was more
con­cerned with his pants–the pock­ets hang­ing heavy how he liked.

~

The House is Burning

Ghosts on the White House lawn like an assembly
of flamin­gos or a mur­der of crows, so thick

I’m sur­prised the press corps can breathe or
the pres­i­den­tial heli­copter land. I’ve heard DC

is sink­ing and maybe this is why. Inside it smells
like the British blaze in 1814 or the Government

Pamphlet Fire of 1929. If the house is burn­ing what
will they save. Is it the Presidential Palace again—

this claw machine scrap­ing all the goods out of the bin.

~

Minor Edits

Like the bats that used to stream from its vents, the movie theater
with its sus­pect red seats has dis­solved into the air. All the old

neigh­bors dimin­ished away. The south neighbor’s yard-sized
flower box­es gone. The clam­or of crows that set­tled for two

days in the gone-away trees. Fumes from the auto paint business
on the cor­ner, the neigh­bor­hood bar where they say someone

got tem­ple-punched, went home, and dropped. Slate
side­walks, cracked as they were. The great stink­ing bushes

that flanked our con­crete stairs. The reach of the forsythia–
trimmed each year out of all of its height. The ice-skating

rink in the back drib­bling con­stant and chilly from the hose.
All col­ors of squir­rels now. A few less cats. The rab­bits still

plumped up and stunned when you sur­prise them in the drive.

~

Susan Grimm has been pub­lished in Sugar House Review, The Cincinnati Review, Phoebe, and Field.  Her chap­book Almost Home was pub­lished in 1997. In 2004, BkMk Press pub­lished Lake Erie Blue, a full-length col­lec­tion. In 2010, she won the inau­gur­al Copper Nickel Poetry Prize. In 2011, she won the Hayden Carruth Poetry Prize and her chap­book Roughed Up by the Sun’s Mothering Tongue was pub­lished. In 2021, she received her third Ohio Arts Council Individual Artist Grant.