The live oak still lives in the birthplace of Dallas,
ramified high enough, fifty falls after,
to block a bead drawn from the sixth-story window
at Houston and Elm. Why call it story?
Says here originally a row of windows
painted with pictures, but what’s the story
of a white-gloved hand grabbing the arm
that jerked up convulsed? What a day.
The sun crusades across the sky
despite the dark attacking early
as highs hit eighty, but does it count
as Indian summer without a prerequisite
killing frost? Doesn’t say here
why Indian summer, and as for pictures
a thousand words each, no way
any picture snapped at the scene
ever beat assassination
lisped by a six-year-old
missing two teeth. What a day.
No wonder he wanted the top down.
Stephen Cushman
Also by Stephen Cushman (see all)
- Dealey Plaza, November Again - October 28, 2021
- Spitting Distance - October 28, 2021
- Pavilion for Washing Away Thoughts - October 28, 2021