ROBERT LIETZ
SUGAR AND MUD
This ain’t the freakin’ autobahn, Clarissa, and
these are not the first, the last of school-spirited
commuters, arriving with that coif, in 1950s leather,
and the song you think, ending in pajamas, never
going quietly. But what’s there to make discovering
these under-seeded valuables, except for this tact,
these conclusions shared, or this sleep there’s no resisting
when you’re finished, counting into it, in that
living language spent among the classier amigos, those
tiny bits a driver scarcely notices at ninety, a day
as it is Statewide, enough snow the oddsmen can agree
we’ve had a little, and this news to focus us, this
sportscaster’s or anchor’s negotiations and complaining,
into the season, say, the day with its faux scheduling,
its sugar and mud surrounding still-standing stalks till April,
Easter anyway, edging the pond skinned yet, though
the deer and hawk endorse another kind of privacy, and
caucuses leave their loose threads hanging as they were,
so what a deer can see, two deer might fix attention on,
or a driver sees, sullen with the supper news still subject
in the morning, the blunders a day extrapolates, brings
the road crews out, restoring the guard-rail slippery spent
some two cars on and over, where the curve drops out
below, and keeps us mum about the vista, about the pivot
details, the lunches a crew believes well-earned,
shouldering in for soups they’ll warm their hands around
and praise the merits of, Lou’s specialties, and
shreds of snow-mobilers’ lamenting, spoken from stools
over their bar-snacks and laced hot drinks or lagers.
So what if the geese concur, pecking what geese will,
from rows between the coming green and stubble, or
settling as one to the open water along the route, easing
themselves afloat, ignoring a broken down mid-nineties
Bonneville, and the cold’s too much, when half of Ohio
sees no part of it, and half insists they’ve never felt
the need for caution, sensing there’s stuff they’ll need
to cut, and sit and sip and crack their shells
and tell you.
Robert Lietz’s poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Agni Review, Georgia Review, Missouri Review, Poetry, and Shenandoah, and in eight collections, including The Lindbergh Half-century, Storm Service, and After Business in the West. Lietz enjoys taking, post-processing, and printing photographs, examining the relationship between them and poems he’s exploring.