Poem Excluding Change
Today every person in the world
is born again, again. Every single
person in the entire world is wearing
a black t-shirt storming
the nearest shoreline.
Today, summer is slang
for summer, is locked inside
every parked car in the city
and the wind is nothing more
than a brilliant collection of sighs.
Poem Excluding Opposite Day
Every thought you have becomes
the future tattoos of sad children
in federally funded afterschool
programs. The river gets a life
and then burns. People wait
in line to give blood, to devour
the future. Bird songs carve
through the air until sunset.
It’s always December
in the next chapter of your life,
your thoughts slowly replaced
by freezing rain.
Poem Excluding Air Quotes
Start with how your father died.
In the hospital, his legs
couldn’t even whisper beneath
the thin sheets. You sat in a plastic
chair and took in a view of the parking
garage. The hallway was busy
with the occasional sound of toddlers
chasing balloons, of nurses, fake smiles.
You decorated his bedside with a get-
well card from an ex-wife, a tall glass
of ice water. When he passed, you
wondered how many people
had died in this room,
on this bed,
at this time of night
when the darkness was making
a meal of the world.
Noah Falck is the author of Snowmen Losing Weight (BatCat Press, 2012). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Boston Review, Denver Quarterly, Harvard Review, Ploughshares, and Poets.org. He is the Education Director at Just Buffalo Literary Center and curates the Silo City Reading Series, a multimedia poetry series in a 130-foot abandoned grain elevator.