By Craig van Rooyen

1.

Nowhere in history will you find Craig followed by 
“the Great” or preceded by “His Excellency,” 
though many have been excellent 
at diagramming sentences and choosing crisp apples 
and braiding their daughters’ hair.

2.

There are no Craigs in the Old Testament or the New
but yourdestinyblueprint.com says we are
useful, friendly, and prone to suffer from a bottomless hunger.
Which must be why I find myself in unmatched socks
on the bare patch of earth overlooking town every morning. 
I am useful here because I am walking the dog.
No one questions the usefulness of a man walking a dog. 
But really I’m here to watch the 6:30 Amtrak
head south toward L.A. where 10 million suns rise
in a city of panes and Craig’s is about to open on Melrose – 
a place a man can start with baked french toast and move on 
to southern fried chicken on corn pancakes 
smothered in maple syrup.

3.

We are known for our lists of gently used or 
used up things, where you can find a spittoon for $50 
and for only ten, a vintage wooden ironing board that 
has been intimate with the underarms of 10,000 shirts 
worn by various middle managers since 1892.

4.

The first of us must have lived
up some Scottish canyon, content to stay 
in the crag with stonechats and sparrows
until the townspeople named the person for his place,
a type of blurring that persists in this variety 
of boys and men who have done so little of note 
they are known not by their achievements 
but by the space they take up in the world: 
Crag dwellers, a half-rung above cave men. 

5.

Over the history of the modern Olympic games, 
our seven medalists brought home
bronze twice and exactly five silvers.

6.

Our numbers dwindle. In 1967, I was one of 7,310 Craigs 
born in the U.S. By 2017, American parents chose the name 
just 207 times. By all rights we are ready to take our place 
on the endangered species list along with the Birdwing Pearlymussel 
and the Bandrumped Storm Petrel, creatures that appear
nowhere on stamps or posters, and still are holy in their way. 

7.

Broken yellow stripes spangle the ribcage of 
the Santa Cruz Long-Toed Salamander.
The last few, with their evolved tail fins and 
absurd toes, like to live near slow-moving streams
and are apparently useless to humankind.
Do you see now that a list can also be a psalm?

8.

On the graph of Craigs, the plunging line predicts
the last of us will be born in 2032. 
If I could, I’d tell that last Craig to have only daughters 
and try to learn the french braid. I’d tell him 
to take up everything that is everything to him 
in his own hands every day and, fistful over fistful, weave 
the trinity of brown strands into a shining rope, taking care 
not to miss the sun-bleached strays around 
his girl’s temples and the nape of her neck, knowing
when the time comes he must find a way to let it go.

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Craig van Rooyen’s poems have appeared in 32 Poems, Best New Poets, Cincinnati Review, Ploughshares, Poetry Northwest, Rattle, and elsewhere. He lives on the Central California Coast and has an MFA from Pacific University.