Summer 1998 • Vol. XX No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 1998 |

An Invocation from the Hot Noon of Central Ohio

Off the interstate for gas in Marion, Ohio, Another town whose business district runs These days to missions, adult films, and thrifts, I watch the old creep out toward afternoon To tend the hollyhocks that tilt beside garages Or budge their walkers down the buckled walks With bags of vegetables. Checking belts, The attendant tells of a farmer south of town, Foreclosed, who last night set his house ablaze With wife and son locked in. Jesus, he says, Wiping clean his hands, and I, with shaking head, Agree. That single oath stands in the heat That silvers from the pumps and tire racks for all That we, as strangers, cannot say, about The backlot clutch of banks and government, Or of the way that madness, without motive, Creeps toward us with a music as singular And strange as a glass harmonica's. I pay The man, decline my stamps, and nose the car Once more past Cal's Roast Beef and Burger Chef. All day, between top-forty songs, I hear His half-hoarse voice rise in the humid air, Repeat

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Now, until, Because

By Norman Williams

Off the interstate for gas in Marion, Ohio, Another town whose business district runs These days to missions, adult films, and thrifts, I watch the old creep out toward afternoon […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.