by Mike Bagwell
I was looking for a good thing
to try about. Every year,
there are parades for veterans.
That might be something.
Dear Mike, that tree in your hotel window
looks like a real tree and not a reflection.
Dear birds, I’ll have someone
look into that. Sincerely Skypenis.
Yours, Mr. Kolaptō. Best, Kid Cumulus.
I don’t think I’d want to be
in a parade. I don’t like large crowds,
or intense noise, or moving.
And what good is anything
if it doesn’t move? Doesn’t glimmer
in some fake-real way? Doesn’t pass
us back our notes with new writing
but the same message?
It’s time to touch the world,
not like that, like this
______
Mike Bagwell is a form of mutual antagonism towards the sky. He received an MFA from Sarah Lawrence, and his work appears in Posit, Poetry Northwest, Action Spectacle, Texas Review, ITERANT, Sprung Formal, Afternoon Visitor, Annulet, and others. Recent chapbooks include Poem of Thanks: Swords and the Devil (Thirty West, forthcoming), Poem of Thanks: A Court of Wands (Metatron 2025) and micros from Ghost City and Rinky Dink. He runs the Ghost Harmonics reading series and magazine in Philly. Find him at mikebagwell.me, @low_gh0st, or playing dragons with his daughters.
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