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M A Y   1 9 9 7

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by James Reiss

Hear James Reiss read this poem (in RealAudio):

RA 28.8, RA 14.4

(For help, see a note about the audio.)

Also by James Reiss:
Cycle (1996)

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What streets, what taxis, transport them
over bridges & speed bumps -- my daughters swift

in pursuit of union? What suitors amuse them, what mazes
of avenues tilt & confuse them as pleasure, that pinball,

goes bouncing off light posts & lands in a pothole,
only to pop up & roll in the gutter? What footloose new

freedoms allow them to plow through all stop signs,
careening at corners, hell-bent for the road to
blaze straight?

It's 10 P.M. in the boonies. My children, I'm thinking
you're thinking your children are waiting

for you to conceive them while you're in a snarl
with my sons-in-law-to-be who want also to be

amazing explorers beguiled by these reckless night rides
that may God willing give way to ten thousand
good mornings!

Copyright © 1997 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
The Atlantic Monthly; April 1997; My Daughters in New York; Volume 279, No. 4; page 58.

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