by Bart Edelman
This time of year, I admit,
I’m rather easily aggrieved.
Goes with the territory.
But I find no distinction
In my destination of choice:
Here, there, and everywhere.
I’d be a damn good citizen
If I could lay down roots.
Call any town home.
Toss my hat in the air.
Know the exact spot it lands.
Who can say for sure these days?
Hey, do me a big favor.
Put out an APB on me.
Send a posse, post-haste.
Perhaps, some kind stranger
Will note my location.
Give me a reason to live.
Then I can finally tell
One season from another.
______
Bart Edelman’s poetry collections include Crossing the Hackensack, Under Damaris’ Dress, The Alphabet of Love, The Gentle Man, The Last Mojito, The Geographer’s Wife, Whistling to Trick the Wind, and This Body Is Never at Rest: New and Selected Poems 1993 – 2023. He has taught at Glendale College, where he edited Eclipse, a literary journal, and, most recently, in the MFA program at Antioch University, Los Angeles. His work has been anthologized in textbooks published by City Lights Books, Etruscan Press, Harcourt Brace, Longman, McGraw-Hill, Prentice Hall, the University of Iowa Press, Wadsworth, and others. He lives in Pasadena, California.
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