Michael Lauchlan

Fact

Almost inert, wedged into chairs
in a dark bar’s dark corner
listening to music or not,
letting it wash past while
we stare at the band or at others—
younger, prettier, more drunk—
who seem to know where
they are and why. Did I once
imagine sliding through space
like a dancer, like Lynn Swann
gliding under a spiraling shape
to cradle fate on the fingertips?
My body has become a fact
in the world, a scarred tabletop,
a mop head leaning in the john,
a fragment of an unspoken phrase.
Gone leathery, I envy even
violin, mando, and guitar
that can hold so well
a full and passing note.

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Michael Lauchlan has contributed to many publications, including New England Review, Virginia Quarterly Review, The North American Review, Louisville Review, Poet Lore and Lake Effect. His most recent collection is Trumbull Ave. from WSU Press.