A new poem by by Sophie van Waardenberg.

FREE TRAMPOLINE

If I could, I’d praise the world—
how this, how that, how the darling other—

but all I do is sit down, hang on,
come home. It has to be enough.

On the walk from the station
all the sidewalk dogs were lying flat.

Slough off the old love, they said
and I said Don’t tell me that.

I’m not done with it. I used to think
my own joy was the best good stuff

but now I drink from other people’s
and you know what, it fills me up alright.

Yum, goodbye. Yeah, when I’m so tired,
I do watch television. I see the cartoon hands

moving fast like real hands, the real hands
moving slowly, as sinister as love.

If someone grabbed me
like those hands in the television

grab what they want so bad
I’d get a shock, I wouldn’t go along with it.

Some people don’t they put their hands
around the world just like that

and it’s all done? But other people let go
and leave the question open.