ISSUE: Autumn 1982
I didn’t get my horse
I have nothing but my own things what I
came with the perfect underwear for him a
phone nice teeth nothing new but this
particular view of a fuschia house yellow
field blue mountain my father
taught me how to ride how to hold on
to the hair of something running how to
go someplace deep in this kind of
country find a rock with a gleaming
sword pull it out every autumn the trees here look like loud pollens
of a zinnia petal held under magnifying
lens like all that I ever wished the
world would give me and rain
stays on my window in a lake made of
one fuschia drop one yellow one
blue and anyway I’ve got what matters here
in my knife-rack it’s all right
Dad life for me ain’t been no pony
I have nothing but my own things what I
came with the perfect underwear for him a
phone nice teeth nothing new but this
particular view of a fuschia house yellow
field blue mountain my father
taught me how to ride how to hold on
to the hair of something running how to
go someplace deep in this kind of
country find a rock with a gleaming
sword pull it out every autumn the trees here look like loud pollens
of a zinnia petal held under magnifying
lens like all that I ever wished the
world would give me and rain
stays on my window in a lake made of
one fuschia drop one yellow one
blue and anyway I’ve got what matters here
in my knife-rack it’s all right
Dad life for me ain’t been no pony
