[Accessibility Text for Screen Readers. Line breaks are preserved.]
Do you ever stop and find yourself humm-
ing? Something vaguely a song? A repetitiv-
e tune you've never heard before, though you listen to a lot of Philip Glass
and Brian Eno. A work hum. It gets you through the tasks that are a kind of humming. How
the bees must feel as they bop about your unintentional garden of flowering weeds.
How I broom the stairs or pin wet shirts to the line. Sometimes
you set out with an epic in mind and, once at it, you find
there's little that need be said. Ask John Milton.
He struggled with this, longed to
spend afternoons more simply,
picking dryer-warm socks
from the plastic basket and
matching them while watching
reruns of M*A*S*H and Sanf-
ord and Son. Redd Fox, I look
to the heavens and clutch my chest
This is the big one, Redd! I'm coming
to join you! You would have had so
much to say to the great blind poet.
Perhaps you're telling him now. And Alan
Alda, where are you? In the 1980's, you
were filming the Korean War in
Calabasas, twenty miles from my
neighborhood. My grandpa
said you were a good man, that I
looked like you, even at ten. I'd
hope to be good too. Sometimes
it's simple. You stumble onto
something good and simple
and you repeat it. Pick
a river that is long
with a one-syllable
name and sing it.
There is one
JASON GEBHARDT's poems have appeared in the The Southern Review, Poet Lore, Iron Horse Literary Review, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal, among others. His chapbook Good Housekeeping won the 2016 Cathy Smith Bowers Prize. He is the recipient of multiple Artist Fellowships awarded by the DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities.