William Logan

July 4^th

Tarred roads starting to buckle,
dogs crawling to exile
beneath porches, bird cry stilled

after the racket, racket, racket of June,
I kneed into the branches
of the heavy-waisted maple

commanding the front yard
like some guard tower of Troy.
Blood-red fire-trucks

rolled thuggishly down the Point,
followed by medaled platoons
of wavering veterans, police in snowy

summer dress, dead-eyed public
servants—hands clasped above
their heads or waving to crowds

that cheered as the defeated do.
I would have cheered, too,
had they not reminded me

of the Greeks, most heroes
dead, hardly one not battle scarred,
taking their victory lap

as Achilles had done,
and from their chariots throwing candy
to the children of the Troia.

Author: William Logan

William Logan’s writes poetry and a little criticism. He has published eleven books of poetry and eight books of essays and reviews. Logan has received, among other honors, the National Book Critics Circle Award in Criticism, the Aiken Taylor Award in Modern American Poetry, the Staige D. Blackford Prize for Nonfiction, the inaugural Randall Jarrell Award in Poetry Criticism, the Corrington Medal for Literary Excellence, the Peter I. B. Lavan Younger Poets Award, and the Allen Tate Prize.  He lives with the poet and artist Debora Greger in Gainesville, Florida, and Cambridge, England.

Plume: Issue #102 February 2020