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Today's poem is by John Estes

Forced Analogy
       

When at last occurs
you'll still not know
whether or not
the work you did to get
there amounts
to anything or not.
They will cry out to you
for an image
because they do not want
the ones they possess.
Look: the ground
is only about 15 feet
below this window—
high enough to kill you—
yet it has happened
more than once,
that if a baby
were to roll out of it
while hunting
for dead pill bugs
in the sill
she'd do so just
as the mail carrier
passes who would catch her
in outstretched arms
as he reaches
for the package
you left that morning
on the porch.
If not for the package.
This kind of fluke
happens, is happening,
and the world
for a news cycle
at least, or maybe at last,
comes to believe in
itself for awhile.



Copyright © 2015 John Estes All rights reserved
from Meridian
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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