John McKernan
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Goes the wayward atom
And you have cancer
A bell at noon cries out
I want to be a sheet of black paper
With tomorrow scribbled in ink
Where are the orgasms
Now that no one needs them
And don't want
To travel to another world
The tumor is not hypnotized by music
It has plenty of quarters
For the parking meter
It needs two gallons
Of embalming fluid
And always wants to be first in line
John McKernan is now retired after teaching 27 years at Marshall University as a comma herder and Phonics Coach.He lives in Florida and West Virginia. His most recent book is a selected poems Resurrection of the Dust. He has published poems in
The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Paris Review, Field, and elsewhere.
Return to November 2016 Edition
Goes the wayward atom
And you have cancer
A bell at noon cries out
I want to be a sheet of black paper
With tomorrow scribbled in ink
Where are the orgasms
Now that no one needs them
And don't want
To travel to another world
The tumor is not hypnotized by music
It has plenty of quarters
For the parking meter
It needs two gallons
Of embalming fluid
And always wants to be first in line
John McKernan is now retired after teaching 27 years at Marshall University as a comma herder and Phonics Coach.He lives in Florida and West Virginia. His most recent book is a selected poems Resurrection of the Dust. He has published poems in
The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Paris Review, Field, and elsewhere.
Return to November 2016 Edition
