Jeff Mock
The Initial Euphoria of the Affair
It’s like arriving with no memory
of the drive along that winding country
road. He forgets each curve,
left and right and left. The road
twists so much it may as well
be straight. He forgets the forsythia, the silver
maples lining the road, the pin
oaks, the paper birches. He has
Roxy Music in the tapedeck,
“Impossible Guitar” spilling out the speakers
so loud that it certainly seems
possible. He forgets the water spilling
over the spillway of the reservoir. The sky
is so full of blue that it spills over
into the trees he has already forgotten.
Everything is so full it spills over.
A silver shiver trembles through him, from
his chest to the gas pedal and he remembers
what pleasure is. He’s on the road
to it or from it. And everything he has forgotten
still is, more so than ever
before. And his pleasure is so full
that it spills over into forgetting.
And when he forgets to breathe, his body
does it for him, as if breathing were
the most natural thing to do.
Jeff Mock is the author of Ruthless (Three Candles Press). His poems appear in American Poetry Review, The Atlantic Monthly, The Georgia Review, New England Review, The North American Review, The Sewanee Review, The Southern Review, and elsewhere.
Return to September 2021 Edition
It’s like arriving with no memory
of the drive along that winding country
road. He forgets each curve,
left and right and left. The road
twists so much it may as well
be straight. He forgets the forsythia, the silver
maples lining the road, the pin
oaks, the paper birches. He has
Roxy Music in the tapedeck,
“Impossible Guitar” spilling out the speakers
so loud that it certainly seems
possible. He forgets the water spilling
over the spillway of the reservoir. The sky
is so full of blue that it spills over
into the trees he has already forgotten.
Everything is so full it spills over.
A silver shiver trembles through him, from
his chest to the gas pedal and he remembers
what pleasure is. He’s on the road
to it or from it. And everything he has forgotten
still is, more so than ever
before. And his pleasure is so full
that it spills over into forgetting.
And when he forgets to breathe, his body
does it for him, as if breathing were
the most natural thing to do.
Jeff Mock is the author of Ruthless (Three Candles Press). His poems appear in American Poetry Review, The Atlantic Monthly, The Georgia Review, New England Review, The North American Review, The Sewanee Review, The Southern Review, and elsewhere.
Return to September 2021 Edition