Almost Perfect by Michael Mark

A distress signal from the deep
end of the pool disturbs my novel. Frantic
SOSs in two-inch concentric circles drummed
by miniscule wings—

and I had such hopes
for the afternoon: shade, pillow, bowl
of pistachios: salt, crunch. But those

wings keep pounding. I’m just at the part
where the warehouse lights flicker—
reveal a shadow on the door.
And the bowl is one nut from empty.

What does it take to move a comfortable human?

Vermin. Not one
of St. Francis’ sweet creatures.
Not worth losing my place on the page, or risk
not finding just this delicious position again.

Gone
is the boy grandma bragged about: This one
will save the world.  

Michael Mark’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Alaska Quarterly Review, The Arkansas International, Columbia Poetry Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Pleiades, Poetry Daily, The New York Times, The Sun, Verse Daily, Waxwing and The Poetry Foundation’s American Life in Poetry and other places. michaeljmark.com