By Christopher Kempf
Or dearest theater.
Aren’t we
all, the premise is, for one
half hour, in tight zoom, suitable
for history? The Lyndhurst couple
married, this weekend, at the bagel shop
on Central. Who met
among the jams & pumpernickels.
The suspect
who fled the Chevron holdup
on horseback.
Athens, for instance,
was less its democracy—solemn
ecclesia, Plato
bent to his parchment—than
the price of goat’s milk in the Way
of Sheepherders. Ahead
at five—teens
skipping sleep. Teens
at St. Cecilia’s filling the boot
for Alzheimer’s. Teens trend-
huffing. Behind the co-hosts
the city poses on its screen. Sunset
flashes. For a minute
our sundry lesser dramas—our bodies
pulled from retention ponds, holiday
toy lineups—form
a single American skyline. Small nation
of lotto & weather radar.
The ecclesia—they
did so, they believed, to banish
the idea of distance—prohibited
star-gazing, so faithful
they were to the stage
& polis.
At Taco Bell
yesterday, two men
pulled knives on each other because,
they said, of a woman. One
drove off with her. The other
sacked Troy. We take you
live, now, to Friday’s parade route. We
will stay with this story
as it evolves.
Christopher Kempf is the author of WHAT THOUGH THE FIELD BE LOST (LSU, 2021) and LATE IN THE EMPIRE OF MEN (Four Way, 2017). He teaches in the MFA program at the University of Illinois.