WEBVTT

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Anyway, what can
be more repugnant

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than those perfumed magazine
ads that we are subjected to?

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I'm sure, one of the signs
of a deteriorating culture.

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So there aren't
enough poems written

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against things like that.

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[LAUGHTER]

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So this is the one--

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Hello.

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How are you, Danielle?

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It's good to see you.

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What a surprise.

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So this poem is
called "Summons."

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"Suppose I can convince myself
this world is my home only

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by claiming it could never
be and then assuming we

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all share that feeling,
a bond that anchors us

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each to the planet, even
those hired to populate

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this photo spread across
pages 24 and 25, a beach

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party, the magazine
scented because what else

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should summon us to
delusion but perfume?

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Drifting up from the
tanned and fiercely healthy

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faces, a massaged glow
in precise attunement

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to the means implied by the
Queen Anne porch and gables,

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women in summer evening
dresses, barefoot,

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heels tossed in clumps of
eelgrass, lighly wavering

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stalks, and two men in tuxes
about to heap driftwood

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atop a bonfire, while
a third lugs the straw

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hamper of food and wines.

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The model's laughter unheard,
but booming out over dunes

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and waves, joyful, efflorescent
laughing, easy to envy,

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and hidden inside their shouts,
another shot of them later,

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clothes stripped off, drunken,
running down the beach

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into a warm, plankton-lit surf,
since these are the seas out

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of which we once
evolved, crawling,

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and skittering over
one another's backs."

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I have to stop being a Puritan.

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Another impossibility.