Douglas Basford

In Issue 3 on May 1, 2009 at 11:35 am

God, when I feel like a pedestrian
compared to you, gamely propelled a pace
further, then another, but with no chase
in my heart's acerbic quail-hound rhythm,

not only am I driven to question
why it is I get jittery in the same space
as a drawn gun, but also how my face,
reddened and squallish, is something anyone
would want to see.
                                It's angelic, claims my wife.

If you let Heston's coifed Moses come down
to us, with cocked rifle practically in hand,
how can I breathe easy if I stand
prey, hunter, faithful pointer in one, alone?

I think I’ve been asking this all my life.

Douglas Basford teaches at SUNY-Buffalo, and his work appears or is
forthcoming in Poetry, Subtropics, Two Lines, Sewanee Theological
Review, The National Poetry Review, The Hopkins Review, Jacket, and

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